'YOU    SHALL    SEE    HOW     I     HANDLE    A     KNIFE!' 


WORKS   OP 

EUGENE  SUE 


THE   MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS 
THE  TAPIS-FRANC 


New  York,  CURRENT  LITERATURE 
PUBLISHING  COMPANY     -    1912 


CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  I. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     The  Tapis-Franc 1 

II.     The  Ogress 7 

III.  History  of  La  Goualeuse 16 

IV.  The  Chourineur's  Iliatory 27 

V.     The  Arrest 36 

VI.     Thomas  Sey ton  and  the  Countess  Sarah, 42 

VII.     "  Your  money  or  your  life  " 47 

VIII.     The  Walk 50 

IX.     The  Surprise 58 

X.     Castles  in  the  Air . . . 64 

XI.     Murphy  and  Rodolph 79 

XII.     The  Rendezvous 92 

XIII.  Preparations 101 

XIV.  The  Bleeding  Heart 106 

XV.     The  Vault 112 

XVI.     The  Sick-Nurse 116 

XVII.     The  Punishment 128 

XVIIL     The  Isle-Adam 141 

XIX.     Recompense 145 

XX.     The  Departure 151 

XXI.     Researches 154 

XXII.     History  of  David  and  Cecily 169 

XXIII.  A  House  in  the  Rue  du  Temple 177 

XXIV.  The  Four  Stories 202 

XXV.     Tom  and  Sarah 209 

XXVI.     The  Ball 225 

XXVII.     The  Rendezvous  260 

XXVIII.     An  Idyl 278 

XXIX.     The  Ambuscade 287 

iii 


iy  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAOB 

XXX.     The  Rectory-House 297 

XXXI.     The  Rencounter 305 

XXXII.     An  Evening  at  the  Farm 308 

XXXIII.  TheDream 341 

XXXIV.  The  Letter 348 

XXXV.     The  Hollow  Way 375 

XXXVI.     Clemence  d'Harville 379 

XXXVTI.     Misery 419 

XXXVIII.     Judgment  and  Execution 441 


THE  MYSTERIES   OF  PARIS. 


CHAPTEK  I. 

THE  TAPIS-FRANC.* 

IT  was  on  a  cold  and  rainy  night,  towards  the  end  of  October 
1838,  that  a  tall  and  powerful  man,  with  an  old  broad-brimmed 
straw  hat  upon  his  head,  and  clad  in  a  blue  cotton  carter's  frock, 
which  hung  loosely  over  trousers  of  the  same  material,  crossed 
the  Pont  au  Change,  and  darted  with  a  hasty  step  into  the  Cite, 
that  labyrinth  of  obscure,  narrow,  and  winding  streets  which 
extends  from  the  Palais  de  Justice  to  Notre  Dame. 

Although  limited  in  space,  and  carefully  watched,  this  quarter 
serves  as  the  lurking-place,  or  rendezvous,  of  a  vast  number 
of  the  very  dregs  of  society  in  Paris,  who  flock  to  the  tapis-franc. 
This  word,  in  the  slang  of  theft  and  murder,  signifies  a  drink- 
ing-shop  of  the  lowest  class.  A  returned  convict,  who,  in  this 
foul  phraseology,  is  called  an  ogre,  or  a  woman  in  the  same 
degraded  state,  who  is  termed  an  ogress,  generally  keep  such 
"  cribs,"  frequented  by  the  refuse  of  the  Parisian  population ; — 
freed  felons,  thieves,  and  assassins,  are  there  familiar  guests.  If 
a  crime  is  committed,  it  is  here,  in  this  filthy  sewer,  that  the 
police  throws  its  cast-net,  ari*d  rarely  fails  to  catch  the  criminals 
it  seeks  to  take. 

On  the  night  in  question,  the  wind  howled  fiercely  in  the 
dark  and  dirty  gulleys  of  the  Cite:  the  blinking  and  uncertain 
light  of  the  lamps  which  swung  to  and  fro  in  the  sudden  gusts 
were  dimly  reflected  in  pools  of  black  slush,  which  flowed 
abundantly  in  the  midst  of  the  filthy  pavement. 

The  murky-colored  houses,  which  were  lighted  within  by  a 
few  panes  of  glass  in  the  worm-eaten  casements,  overhung  each 
other  so  closely,  that  the  eaves  of  each  almost  touched  its  op- 

*  Tapis-franc  ;  literally,  a  "  free  carpet ; "  a  low  haunt  equivalent  to  what 
in  English  slang  is  termed  "a  boozing  ken." 

1 


2  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

posite  neighbor,  so  narrow  were  the  streets.  Dark  and  noisome 
alleys  led  to  staircases  still  more  black  and  foul,  and  so  per- 
pendicular, that'they  could  hardly  be  ascended  by  the  help  of  a 
cord  fixed  to  the  dank  and  humid  walls  by  holdfasts  of  iron. 

Stalls  of  charcoal-sellers,  fruit-sellers,  or  venders  of  refuse 
meat,  occupied  the  ground-floor  of  some  of  these  wretched 
abodes.  Notwithstanding  the  small  value  of  their  commodities, 
the  front  of  nearly  all  these  shops  were  protected  by  strong 
bars  of  iron, — a  proof  that  the  shopkeepers  knew  and  dreaded 
the  gentry  who  infested  the  vicinity. 

The  man  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  having  entered  the  Rue 
aux  Feves,  which  is  in  the  center  of  the  -Cite,  slackened  his  pace : 
he  felt  he  was  on  his  own  soil.  The  night  was  dark,  and  strong 
gusts  of  wind,  mingled  with  rain,  dashed  against  the  walls. 
Ten  o'clock  struck  by  the  distant  dial  of  the  Palais  de  Justice. 
Women  were  huddled  together  under  the  vaulted  arches,  deep 
and  dark,  like  caverns ;  some  hummed  popular  airs  in  a  low  key ; 
others  conversed  together  in  whispers;  whilst  some,  dumb  and 
motionless,  looked  on  mechanically  at  the  wet,  which  fell  and 
flowed  in  torrents.  The  man  in  the  carter's  frock,  stopping 
suddenly  before  one  of  these  creatures,  silent  and  sad  as  she 
gazed,  seized  her  by  the  arm,  and  said,  "Ha!  good-evening, 
La  Goualeuse."  * 

The  girl  receded,  saying,  in  a  faint  and  fearful  tone,  "  Good- 
evening,  CJiourineur.}  Don't  hurt  me." 

This  man,  a  liberated  convict,  had  been  so  named  at  the  hulks. 

"  Now  I  have  you,"  said  the  fellow ;  "  you  must  pay  me  the 
glass  of  'tape'  (eau  d'aff),  or  I'll  make  you  dance  without 
music,"  he  added,  with  a  hoarse  and  brutal  laugh. 

"Oh,  Heaven!  I  have  no  money,"  replied  Goualeuse,  trem- 
bling from  head  to  foot,  for  this  man  was  the  dread  of  the 
district. 

"  If  you're  stumped,  the  ogress  of  the  tapis-franc  will  give 
you  tick  for  your  pretty  face." 

"  She  won't ;  I  already  owe  her  for  the  clothes  I'm  wearing." 

"What,  you  want  to  shirk  it?"  shouted  the  Chourineur, 
darting  after  La  Goualeuse,  who  had  hid  herself  in  a  gulley  as 
mirk  as  midnight. 

"  Now,  then,  my  lady,  I've  got  you ! "  said  the  vagabond, 
after  groping  about  for  a  few  moments,  and  grasping  in  one  of 
his  coarse  and  powerful  hands  a  slim  and  delicate  wrist; 
"  and  now  for  the  dance  I  promised  you." 

*  Sweet-throated ;  in  reference  to  the  tone  of  her  voice. 
f  One  who  strikes  with  the  knife;  the  stabber,  or  slasher. 


TUB  TAPIS- FRANC.  3 

"  No,  it  is  you  who  shall  dance !  "  was  uttered  by  a  masculine 
and  deep  voice. 

"  A  man !  Is't  you,  Bras  Rouge  ?  Speak ;  why  don't  you  ? 
and  don't  squeeze  so  hard.  I  am  here  in  the  entrance  to  your 
'  ken,'  and  you  it  must  be." 

"  'Tis  not  Bras  Rouge ! "  said  the  voice. 

"  Oh !  isn't  it  ?  Well,  then,  if  it  is  not  a  friend,  why,  here 
goes  at  you,"  exclaimed  the  Chourineur.  "  But  whose  bit  of  a 
hand  is  it  I  have  got  hold  of  ? — it  must  be  a  woman's !  " 

"  It  is  the  fellow  to  this,"  responded  the  voice. 

And  under  the  delicate  skin  of  this  hand,  which  grasped  his 
throat  with  sudden  ferocity,  the  Chourineur  felt  himself  held  by 
nerves  of  iron.  The  Goualeuse,  who  had  sought  refuge  in  this 
alley,  and  lightly  ascended  a  few  steps,  paused  for  an  instant, 
and  said  to  her  unknown  defender,  "Thanks,  sir,  for  having 
taken  my  part.  The  Chourineur  said  he  would  strike  me  be- 
cause I  could  not  pay  for  his  glass  of  brandy;  but  I  think  he 
only  jested.  Now  I  am  safe,  pray  let  him  go.  Take  care  of 
yourself,  for  he  is  the  Chourineur." 

"  If  he  be  the  Chourineur,  I  am  a  bully  boy  who  never 
knuckles  down,"  exclaimed  the  unknown. 

All  was  then  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  were  heard  for 
several  seconds,  in  the  midst  of  the  pitchy  darkness,  sounds  of  a 
fierce  struggle. 

"  Who  the  devil  is  this  ? "  then  said  the  ruffian,  making  a 
desperate  effort  to  free  himself  from  his  adversary,  whose  ex- 
traordinary power  astonished  him.  "  Now,  then,  now  you  shall 
pay  both  for  La  Goualeuse  and  yourself ! "  he  shouted,  grinding 
his  teeth. 

"  Pay !  yes,  I  will  pay  you,  but  it  shall  be  with  my  fists ;  and 
it  shall  be  cash  in  full,"  replied  the  unknown. 

"  If,"  said  the  Chourineur,  in  a  stifled  voice,  "  you  do  but 
let  go  my  neckcloth,  I  will  bite  your  nose  off." 

"  My  nose  is  too  small,  my  lad,  and  you  hav'nt  light  enough 
to  see  it." 

"  Come  under  the  *  hanging  glim '  *  there." 

"  That  I  will,"  replied  the  unknown,  "  for  then  we  may  look 
into  the  whites  of  each  other's  eyes." 

He  then  made  a  desperate  rush  at  the  Chourineur,  whom  he 
still  held  by  the  throat,  and  forced  him  to  the  end  of  the  alley, 
and  then  thrust  him  violently  into  the  street,  which  was 
but  dimly  lighted  by  the  suspended  street-lamp.  The  bandit 

*  Under  the  lamp,  called  reverbere. 


4;  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

stumbled;  but,  rapidly  recovering  his  feet,  he  threw  himself 
furiously  upon  the  unknown,  whose  slim  and  graceful  form 
appeared  to  belie  the  possession  of  the  irresistible  strength  he 
had  displayed.  After  a  struggle  of  a  few  minutes,  the  Chou- 
rineur,  although  of  athletic  build,  and  a  first-rate  champion  in  a 
species  of  pugilism  vulgarly  termed  the  savate,  found  that  he 
had  got  what  they  call  his  master.  The  unknown  threw  him 
twice  with  immense  dexterity,  by  what  is  called,  in  wrestling, 
the  leg-pass,  or  crook.  Unwilling,  however,  to  acknowledge  the 
superiority  of  his  adversary,  the  Chourineur,  boiling  with  rage, 
returned  again  to  the  charge.  Then  the  defender  of  La  Goua- 
leuse,  suddenly  altering  his  mode  of  attack,  rained  on  the  head 
and  face  of  the  bandit  a  shower  of  blows  with  his  closed  fist,  as 
hard  and  heavy  as  if  stricken  by  a  steel  gauntlet.  These  blows, 
worthy  of  the  admiration  of  Jem  Belcher,  Dutch  Sam,  Tom 
Cribb,  or  any  other  celebrated  English  pugilist,  were  so  entirely 
different  from  the  system  of  the  savate,  that  the  Chourineur 
dropped  like  an  ox  on  the  pavement,  exclaiming,  as  he  fell, 
"  I'm  floored  "  (Mon  linge  est  lave)  \ 

" Mon  Dieu!  mon  Dieu!  have  pity  on  him!"  exclaimed  La 
Goualeuse,  who,  during  the  contest,  had  ventured  on  the  thresh- 
old of  the  alley,  adding,  with  an  air  of  astonishment,  "  But  who 
are  you  then?  Except  the  Schoolmaster  and  Skeleton,  there  is 
no  one,  from  the  Eue  Saint  Eloi  to  Notre  Dame,  who  can 
stand  against  the  Chourineur.  I  thank  you,  very,  very  much, 
sir,  for,  indeed,  I  fear  that  without  your  aid  he  would  have 
beaten  me." 

The  unknown,  instead  of  replying,  listened  with  much  at- 
tention to  the  voice  of  this  girl.  Perhaps  a  tone  more  gentle, 
sweet,  and  silvery,  never  fell  on  human  ear.  He  endeavored  to 
examine  the  features  of  La  Goualeuse;  but  the  night  was  too 
dark,  and  the  beams  of  the  street-lamp  too  flickering  and  feeble. 
After  remaining  for  some  minutes  quite  motionless,  the  Chou- 
rineur shook  his  legs  and  arms,  and  then  partly  rose  from  the 
ground. 

"  Pray  be  on  your  guard !  "  exclaimed  the  Goualeuse,  retreat- 
ing again  into  the  dark  passage,  and  taking  her  champion  by 
the  arm ;  "  take  care,  or  he  will  have  his  revenge  on  you." 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  my  child ;  if  he  has  not  had  enough,  I 
have  more  ready  for  him." 

The  brigand  heard  these  words. 

"  Thanks,"  he  murmured ;  "  I'm  half  throttled,  and  one  eye 
is  closed — that  is  quite  enough  for  one  day.  Some  other  time, 
perhaps,  when  we  may  meet  again " 


THE  TAPIS-FRANC.  5 

"What!  not  content  yet — grumbling  still?"  said  the  un- 
known, with  a  menacing  tone. 

"  No,  no — not  at  all ;  I  do  not  grumble  in  the  least.  You 
have  regularly  served  me  out — you  are  a  lad  of  mettle,"  said  the 
Chourineur,  in  a  coarse  tone,  but  still  with  that  sort  of 
deference  which  physical  superiority  always  finds  in  persons  of 
his  grade.  "  You  are  the  better  man,  that's  clear.  Well,  except 
the  Skeleton,  who  seems  to  have  bones  of  iron,  he  is  so  thin 
and  powerful,  and  the  Schoolmaster,  who  could  eat  three  Her- 
culeses  for  his  breakfast,  no  man  living  could  boast  of  having 
put  his  foot  on  my  neck." 

"Well,  and  what  then?" 

"  Why,  now  I  have  found  my  master,  that's  all ;  you  will  find 
yours  some  day,  sooner  or  later — everybody  does.  One  thing, 
however,  is  certain;  now  that  you  are  a  better  man  than  the 
Chourineur,  you  may  '  go  your  length '  in  the  Cite.  All  the 
women  will  be  your  slaves;  ogres  and  ogresses  will  give  you 
credit,  if  it  is  only  for  fear;  you  may  be  a  king  in  your  way! 
But  who  and  what  are  you?  You  patter  flash  like  a  family 
man !  If  you  are  a  '  prig,'  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  you. 
I  have  used  the  knife,  it  is  true,  because,  when  the  blood  comes 
into  my  eyes,  I  see  red,  and  I  must  strike,  in  spite  of  myself; 
but  I  have  paid  for  my  slashing,  by  going  to  the  hulks  for 
fifteen  years.  My  time  is  up,  and  I  am  free  from  surveillance. 
I  can  now  live  in  the  capital,  without  fear  of  the  '  beaks ; '  and 
I  have  never  prigged — have  I,  La  Goualeuse  ?  " 

"  No,  he  was  never  a  thief,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Come  along,  then,  and  let  us  have  a  glass  of  something  to- 
gether, and  I'll  tell  you  who  I  am,"  said  the  unknown.  "  Come, 
don't  let  us  bear  malice." 

"  Bear  malice ! — devil  a  bit !  You  are  master — I  confess  it. 
You  do  know  how  to  handle  your  fists;  I  never  knew  anything 
like  it.  Thunder  and  lightning!  how  your  thumps  fell  on  my 
sconce — I  never  felt  anything  like  it.  Yours  is  a  new  game, 
and  you  must  teach  it  to  me." 

"  I  will  recommence  whenever  you  like." 

"  Not  on  me,  though,  thank  ye — not  on  me,"  exclaimed  the 
Chourineur,  laughing,  "your  blows  fell  as  if  from  a  sledge- 
hammer; I  am  still  giddy  from  them.  But  do  you  know  Bras 
Rouge,  in  whose  passage  you  were  ?  " 

"  Bras  Rouge  ?  "  said  the  unknown,  who  appeared  disagree- 
ably surprised  at  the  question;  adding,  however,  with  an  in- 
different air,  "  I  do  not  know  Bras  Rouge.  Is  he  the  only 
person  who  inhabits  this  abode?  It  rained  in  torrents,  and  I 


Q  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

took  shelter  in  the  alley.  You  meant  to  beat  this  poor  girl,  and 
I  have  thrashed  you — that's  all." 

"  You're  right ;  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  your  affairs.  Bras 
Rouge  has  a  room  here,  but  does  not  occupy  it  often.  He  is 
usually  at  his  estaminet  in  the  Champs  Elysees.  But  what's  the 
good  of  talking  about  him  ?  "  Then  turning  to  the  Goualeuse, 
"  On  my  word  you  are  a  good  wench,  and  I  would  not  have 
beaten  you ;  you  know  I  would  not  harm  a  child — it  was  only  my 
joke.  Never  mind;  it  was  very  good  of  you  not  to  set  on  this 
friend  of  yours  against  me  when  I  was  down,  and  at  his  mercy. 
Come  and  drink  with  us;  he  pays  for  all.  By  the  way,  my 
trump,"  said  he,  to  the  unknown,  "what  say  you,  instead  of 
going  to  tipple,  shall  we  go  and  have  a  crust  for  supper  with 
the  ogress  at  the  White  Rabbit?  It  is  a  tapis-franc/' 

"  With  all  my  heart.  I  will  pay  for  the  supper.  You'll  come 
with  us,  Goualeuse  ?  "  inquired  the  unknown. 

"Thanks,  sir,"  she  replied,  "but,  after  having  seen  your 
struggle,  it  has  made  my  heart  beat  so  that  I  have  no  appetite." 

"  Pooh !  pooh !  one  shoulder  of  mutton  pokes  the  other  down," 
said  the  Chourineur ;  "  the  cookery  at  the  White  Eabbit  is  first- 
rate." 

The  three  personages  then,  in  perfect  amity,  bent  their  steps 
together  toward  the  tavern. 

During  the  contest  between  the  Chourineur  and  the  unknown, 
a  charcoal-seller,  of  huge  size,  ensconced  in  another  passage, 
had  contemplated  with  much  anxiety  the  progress  of  the  combat, 
but  without  attempting  to  offer  the  slightest  assistance  to  either 
antagonist.  When  the  unknown,  the  Chourineur,  and  the  Goua- 
leuse, proceeded  to  the  public-house,  the  charcoal-man  followed 
them. 

The  beaten  man  and  the  Goualeuse  first  entered  the  tapis- 
franc;  the  unknown  was  following,  when  the  charcoal-man  ac- 
costed him,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  in  the  German  language, 
and  in  a  most  respectful  tone  of  remonstrance,  "Pray,  your 
highness,  be  on  your  guard." 

The  unknown  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  rejoined  his  new 
companion.  The  charcoal-dealer  did  not  leave  the  door  of  the 
cabaret,  but  listened  attentively,  and  gazed  from  time  to  time 
through  a  small  hole  which  had  been  accidentally  made  in  the 
thick  coat  of  whitening  with  which  the  windows  of  such  haunts 
as  these  are  usually  covered  on  the  inside. 


THE  OGRESS.  f 

CHAPTER    II. 

THE    OGRESS. 

THE  White  Rabbit  is  situated  in  the  center  of  the  Rue  aux 
Feves.  This  tavern  occupies  the  ground-flour  of  a  lofty  house, 
the  front  of  which  is  formed  by  two  windows,  which  are  styled 
"  a  guillotine."  Hanging  from  the  front  of  the  door  leading  to 
a  dark  and  arched  passage,  was  an  oblong  lamp,  on  the  cracked 
panes  of  which  were  written,  in  red  letters,  "Nightly  Lodgings 
here" 

The  Chourineur,  the  unknown,  and  the  Goualeuse,  entered 
into  a  large  but  low  apartment,  with  the  ceiling  smoked,  and 
crossed  by  black  rafters,  just  visible  by  the  flickering  light  of 
a  miserable  suspended  lamp.  The  cracked  walls,  formerly 
covered  with  plaster,  were  now  ornamented  in  places  with 
coarse  drawings,  or  sentences  of  flash  and  obscenity. 

The  floor,  composed  of  earth  beaten  together  with  saltpeter, 
was  thick  with  dirt;  an  armful  of  straw — an  apology  for  a 
carpet — was  placed  at  the  foot  of  the  ogress's  counter,  which 
was  at  the  right  hand  of  the  door,  just  beneath  the  dim  lantern. 

On  each  side  of  this  room  there  were  six  tables,  one  end  of 
each  of  which  was  nailed  to  the  wall,  as  well  as  the  benches  on 
either  side  of  them.  At  the  farther  end  was  a  door  leading  to  a 
kitchen;  on  the  right,  near  the  counter,  was  a  passage  which 
led  into  a  den  where  persons  slept  for  the  night  at  three  half- 
pence a-head. 

A  few  words  will  describe  the  ogress  and  'her  guests.  The 
lady  was  called  Mother  Ponisse;  her  triple  trade  consisted  in 
letting  furnished  apartments,  keeping  a  public-house,  and 
lending  clothes  to  the  miserable  creatures  who  infest  these  foul 
streets. 

The  ogress  was  about  forty  years  of  age,  bulky,  fat,  and  heavy. 
She  had  a  full  color,  and  strong  symptoms  of  a  beard.  Her 
deep  voice,  her  enormous  arms,  and  coarse  hands,  betokened 
uncommon  strength.  She  wore  on  her  cap  a  large  red  and 
yellow  handkerchief;  a  shawl  of  rabbit-skin  was  crossed  over 
her  bosom,  and  tied  behind :  her  woolen  gown  fell  upon  black 
wooden  shoes,  scorched  almost  black  by  the  small  stove  at  which 
she  warmed  her  feet ;  and,  to  crown  her  beauty,  she  had  a 
copper  complexion,  which  the  use  of  strong  liquors  had  mate- 
rially tended  to  heighten. 


g  TBB  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

The  counter,  covered  with  lead,  was  decked  with  jugs  with  iron 
hoops,  and  various  pewter  measures.  In  an  open  cupboard, 
fastened  to  the  wall,  there  were  several  flasks  of  glass,  so 
fashioned  as  to  represent  the  pedestrian  figure  of  the  Emperor. 
These  bottles  contained  sundry  cordials,  red  and  green  in 
color,  and  known  by  the  names  of  "Drops  for  the  Brave," 
"  Ratafia  of  the  Column/'  etc.,  etc. 

A  large  black  cat,  with  green  eyes,  was  sitting  near  the  ogress, 
and  seemed  the  familiar  demon  of  the  place.  Then,  in  strange 
contrast,  a  holy  branch  of  boxwood,  bought  at  church  by  the 
ogress,  was  suspended  at  the  back  of  an  old  cuckoo-clock. 

Two  marvelously  ill-favored  fellows,  with  unshaven  beards, 
and  their  garb  all  in  tatters,  hardly  tasted  of  the  pitcher  of  wine 
before  them,  and  conversed  together  in  low  voices,  and  with 
uneasy  aspect.  One  of  the  two,  very  pale  and  livid,  pulled, 
from  time  to  time,  his  shabby  skull-cap  over  his  brows,  and 
concealed  as  much  as  possible  his  left  hand,  and,  even  when 
compelled  to  use  it,  he  did  so  with  caution. 

Further  on  there  was  a  young  man,  hardly  sixteen  years  of 
age,  with  beardless  chin,  and  a  countenance  wan,  wrinkled,  and 
heavy,  his  eye  dull,  and  his  long  black  hair  straggling  down 
his  neck.  This  youthful  rake,  the  emblem  of  precocious  vice, 
was  smoking  a  short  black  pipe.  His  back  was  resting  against 
the  wall,  and  his  two  hands  were  in  the  pockets  of  his  blouse, 
and  his  legs  stretched  along  the  bench.  He  did  not  cease 
smoking  for  a  moment,  unless  it  was  to  drink  from  a  cannakin 
of  brandy  placed  before  him. 

The  other  inmates  of  the  tapis-franc,  men  and  women, 
presented  no  remarkable  characteristics.  There  was  the 
ferocious  or  embruted  face — the  vulgar  and  licentious  mirth ; 
but  from  time  to  time  there  was  a  deep  and  dull  silence.  Such 
were  the  guests  of  the  tapis-franc  when  the  unknown,  the 
Chourineur,  and  the  Goualeuse,  entered. 

These  three  persons  play  such  important  parts  in  our  recital, 
that  we  must  put  them  in  relief. 

The  Chourineur  was  a  man  of  lofty  stature  and  athletic  make, 
with  hair  of  a  pale  brown,  nearly  white;  thick  eyebrows,  and 
enormous  whiskers  of  deep  red.  The  sun's  rays,  misery,  and  the 
severe  toil  of  the  galleys,  had  bronzed  his  skin  to  that  deep  and 
olive  hue  which  is  peculiar  to  convicts.  In  spite  of  his  horrible 
nickname,  his  features  did  not  express  ferocity,  but  a  sort  of 
coarse  familiarity  and  irrepressible  audacity.  We  have  said 
already  that  the  Chourineur  was  clothed  in  trousers  and  frock 
of  blue  cotton,  and  on  his  head  he  had  one  of  those  large  straw 


THE  OGRESS.  g 

hats  usually  worn  by  workmen  in  timber-yards,  and  barge- 
emptiers. 

The  Goualeuse  was,  perhaps,  about  sixteen  and  a  half  years 
old.  A  forehead,  of  the  purest  and  whitest,  surmounted  a  face 
of  perfect  oval  and  angel-like  expression;  a  fringe  of  eyelids, 
so  long  that  they  curled  slightly,  half  veiled  her  large  blue  eyes, 
which  had  a  melancholy  expression.  The  down  of  early  youth 
graced  cheeks  lightly  colored  with  a  scarlet  tinge.  Her  small 
and  rosy  mouth,  which  hardly  ever  smiled, — her  nose,  straight, 
and  delicately  chiseled, — her  rounded  chin, — had,  in  their  com- 
bined expression,  a  nobility  and  a  sweetness,  such  as  we  can  only 
find  in  the  most  beautiful  of  Raphael's  portraits.  On  each  side 
of  her  fair  temples  was  a  band  of  hair,  of  the  most  splendid 
auburn  hue,  which  descended  in  luxuriant  ringlets  half  way 
down  her  cheeks,  and  were  then  turned  back  behind  the  ear,  a 
portion  of  which — ivory  shaded  with  carnation — was  thus 
visible,  and  was  then  lost  under  the  close  folds  of  a  large  cotton 
handkerchief,  with  blue  checks,  tied,  as  it  is  called,  en  mar- 
motte.  Her  graceful  neck,  of  dazzling  whiteness,  was  encircled 
by  a  small  necklace  of  grains  of  coral.  Her  gown,  of  brown 
stuff,  though  much  too  large,  could  not  conceal  a  charm- 
ing form,  supple  and  round  as  a  cane ;  a  worn-out  small  orange- 
colored  shawl,  with  green  fringe,  was  crossed  over  her  bosom. 

The  lovely  voice  of  the  Goualeuse  had  made  a  strong  impres- 
sion on  her  unknown  defender,  and,  in  sooth,  that  voice,  so 
gentle,  so  deliciously  modulated,  and  harmonious,  had  an  at- 
traction so  irresistible,  that  the  horde  of  villains  and  abandoned 
women,  in  the  midst  of  whom  this  unfortunate  girl  lived,  often 
begged  her  to  sing,  and  listened  to  her  with  rapture. 

The  Goualeuse  had  another  name,  given,  doubtless,  to  the 
maiden  sweetness  of  her  countenance, — she  was  also  called  Fleur- 
de-Marie. 

The  defender  of  La  Goualeuse  (we  shall  call  the  unknown, 
Rodolph)  appeared  about  thirty-six  years  of  age;  his  figure, 
tall,  graceful,  and  admirably  proportioned,  yet  did  not  betoken 
the  astonishing  vigor  which  he  had  displayed  in  his  rencounter 
with  the  Chourineur. 

It  would  have  been  difficult  to  assign  a  decided  character  to 
the  physiognomy  of  Rodolph.  Certain  wrinkles  in  his  forehead 
betokened  a  man  of  meditation;  and  yet  the  firm  expression  of 
his  mouth,  the  dignified  and  bold  carriage  of  the  head,  assured 
us  of  the  man  of  action,  whose  physical  strength  and  presence 
of  mind  would  always  command  an  ascendancy  over  the  mul- 
titude. 


10  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

In  his  straggle  with  the  Chourineur,  Rodolph  had  neither 
betrayed  anger  nor  hatred.  Confident  in  his  own  strength,  his 
address,  and  agility,  he  had  only  shown  a  contempt  for  the  brute 
beast  which  he  subdued. 

We  will  finish  this  bodily  picture  of  Rodolph  by  saying  that 
his  features,  regularly  handsome,  seemed  too  beautiful  for  a 
man.  His  eyes  were  large,  and  of  a  deep  hazel,  his  nose  aquiline, 
his  chin  rather  projecting,  his  hair  bright  chestnut,  of  the  same 
shade  as  his  eyebrows,  which  were  strongly  arched,  and  his  small 
mustache,  which  was  fine  and  silky.  Thanks  to  the  manners 
and  the  language  which  he  assumed  with  so  much  ease, 
Rodolph  was  exactly  like  the  other  guests  of  the  ogress.  Round 
his  graceful  neck,  as  elegantly  modeled  as  that  of  the  Indian 
Bacchus,  he  wore  a  black  cravat,  carelessly  tied,  the  ends  of 
which  fell  on  the  collar  of  his  blue  blouse.  A  double  row  of 
nails  decorated  his  heavy  shoes,  and,  except  that  his  hands 
were  of  most  aristocratic  shape,  nothing  distinguished  him 
from  the  other  guests  of  the  tapis-franc;  though,  in  a  moral 
sense,  his  resolute  air,  and,  what  we  may  term,  his  bold  serenity, 
placed  an  immense  distance  between  them. 

On  entering  the  tapis-franc,  the  Chourineur,  laying  one  of 
his  heavy  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  Rodolph,  cried,  "  Hail  the 
conqueror  of  the  Chourineur!  Yes,  my  boys,  this  springald 
has  floored  me;  and  if  any  young  gentleman  wishes  to  have  his 
ribs  smashed,  or  his  'nob  in  Chancery'  even  including  the 
Schoolmaster  and  the  Skeleton,  here  is  their  man ;  I  will  answer 
for  him,  and  back  him !  " 

At  these  words,  all  present,  from  the  ogress  to  the  lowest 
ruffian  of  the  tapis-franc,  contemplated  the  victor  of  the  Chou- 
rineur with  respect  and  fear.  Some,  moving  their  glasses  and 
jugs  to  the  end  of  the  table  at  which  they  were  seated,  offered 
Rodolph  a  seat,  if  he  were  inclined  to  sit  near  them ;  others 
approached  the  Chourineur,  and  asked  him,  in  a  low  voice,  for 
the  particulars  of  this  unknown,  who  had  made  his  entrance 
into  their  world  in  so  striking  a  manner. 

Then  the  ogress,  accosting  Rodolph  with  one  of  her  most 
gracious  smiles, — a  thing  unheard  of,  and  almost  deemed  fabu- 
lous, in  the  annals  of  the  White  Rabbit, — rose  from  the  bar  to 
take  the  orders  of  her  guest,  and  know  what  he  desired  to  have 
for  the  refreshment  of  his  party — an  attention  which  she  did 
not  evince  either  to  the  Schoolmaster  or  the  Skeleton,  two 
fearful  ruffians,  who  made  even  the  Chourineur  tremble. 

One  of  the  men  with  the  villainous  aspect,  whom  we  have 
before  described  as  being  very  pale,  hiding  his  left  hand,  and 


THE  OORESS.  H 

continually  pulling  his  cap  over  his  brows,  leaned  towards  the 
ogress,  who  was  carefully  wiping  the  table  where  Rodolph  had 
taken  his  seat,  and  said  to  her,  in  a  hoarse  tone,  "  Hasn't  the 
Gros-Boiteux  been  here  to-day  ?  " 

"  No/'  said  Mother  Ponisse. 

"  Nor  yesterday?  " 

"  Yes,  he  came  yesterday." 

"  Was  Calebasse  with  him — the  daughter  of  Martial,  who  was 
guillotined?  You  know  whom  I  mean — the  Martials  of  the 
lie  de  Ravageur?" 

"  What !  do  you  take  me  for  a  spy,  with  your  questions  ? 
Do  you  think  I  watch  my  customers?"  said  the  ogress,  in  a 
brutal  tone. 

"  I  have  an  appointment  to-night  with  the  Gros-Boiteux  and 
the  Schoolmaster,"  replied  the  fellow;  "we  have  some  business 
together." 

"  That's  your  affair — a  set  of  ruffians,  as  you  are,  altogether." 

"  Ruffians !  "  said  the  man,  much  incensed,  "  it  is  such  ruffians 
you  get  your  living  by." 

"  Will  you  hold  your  jaw  ?  "  said  the  Amazon,  with  a  threat- 
ening gesture,  and  lifting,  as  she  spoke,  the  pitcher  she  held  in 
her  hand. 

The  man  resumed  his  place,  grumbling  as  he  did  so. 

"  The  Gros-Boiteux  has,  perhaps,  stayed  to  give  that  young 
fellow  Germain,  who  lives  in  the  Rue  du  Temple,  his  gruel," 
said  he,  to  his  companion. 

"  What,  do  they  mean  to  do  for  him  ?  " 

"  No,  not  quite,  but  to  make  him  more  careful  in  future.  It 
appears  he  has  '  blown  the  gaff '  in  the  job  at  Nantes,  so  Bras 
Rouge  declares." 

"  Why,  that  is  Gros-Boiteux'  affair ;  he  has  only  just  left 
prison,  and  has  his  hands  full  already." 

Fleur-de-Marie  had  followed  the  Chourineur  into  the  tavern 
of  the  ogress,  and  he,  responding  to  a  nod  given  to  him  by  the 
young  scamp  with  the  jaded  aspect,  said,  "  Ah !  Barbillon,  what, 
pulling  away  at  the  old  stuff?" 

"  Yes :  I  would  rather  fast,  and  go  haref oot  any  day,  than  be 
without  my  drops  for  my  throttle,  and  the  weed  for  my  pipe," 
said  the  rapscallion,  in  a  thick,  low,  hoarse  voice,  without 
moving  from  his  seat,  and  puffing  out  volumes  of  tobacco-smoke. 

"  Good-evening,  Fleur-de-Marie,"  said  the  ogress,  looking  with 
a  prying  eye  on  the  clothes  of  the  poor  girl — clothes  which  she 
had  lent  her.  After  her  scrutiny,  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  coarse 
satisfaction,  "  It's  really  a  pleasure — so  it  is — to  lend  one's 


12  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

good  clothes  to  you :  you  are  as  clean  as  a  kitten,  or  else  I  would 
never  have  trusted  you  with  that  shawl.  Such  a  beauty  as  that 
orange  one  is,  I  would  never  have  trusted  it  to  such  gals  as 
Tourneuse  and  Boulotte;  but  I  have  taken  every  care  on  you 
ever  since  you  came  here  six  weeks  ago;  and,  if  the  truth  must 
be  said,  there  is  not  a  tidier  nor  more  nicer  girl  than  you  in 
all  the  Cite;  that  there  ain't;  though  you  be  al'ays  so  sadlike, 
and  too  particular/' 

The  Goualeuse  sighed,  turned  her  head,  and  said  nothing. 

"  Why,  mother,"  said  Eodolph  to  the  old  hag,  "  you  have  got 
some  holy  box-wood,  I  see,  over  your  cuckoo;  "  and  he  pointed 
with  his  finger  to  the  consecrated  bough  behind  the  old  clock. 

"  Why,  you  heathen,  would  you  have  us  live  like  dogs  ? " 
replied  the  ogress.  Then,  addressing  Fleur-de-Marie,  she  added, 
"  Come,  now,  Goualeuse,  tip  us  one  of  your  pretty  little 
ditties"  (goualantes). 

"  Supper,  supper  first,  Mother  Ponisse,"  said  the  Chourineur. 

"Well,  my  lad  of  wax,  what  can  I  do  for  you?"  said  the 
ogress  to  Rodolph,  whose  good-will  she  was  desirous  to  conciliate, 
and  whose  support  she  might,  perchance,  require. 

"  Ask  the  Chourineur ;  he  orders,  I  pay." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  ogress,  turning  to  the  bandit,  "  what 
will  you  have  for  supper,  you  '  bad  lot  ?  ' '; 

"  Two  quarts  of  the  best  wine,  at  twelve  sous,  three  crusts 
of  wheaten  bread,  and  a  harlequin,"*  said  the  Chourineur, 
after  considering  for  a  few  moments  what  he  should  order. 

"  Ah !  you  are  a  dainty  dog,  I  know,  and  as  fond  as  ever  of 
them  harlequins." 

"  Well,  now,  Goualeuse,"  said  the  Chourineur,  tl  are  you 
hungry  ?  " 

"  No,  Chourineur." 

"  Would  you  like  anything  better  than  a  harlequin,  my  lass  ?  " 
said  Rodolph. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  I  have  no  appetite." 

"Come,  now,"  said  the  Chourineur,  with  a  brutal  grin, 
"look  my  master  in  the  face  like  a  jolly  wench.  You  have  no 
objection,  I  suppose  ?  " 

The  poor  girl  blushed,  and  did  not  look  at  Rodolph.  A  few 
moments  afterwards,  and  the  ogress  herself  placed  on  the  table 
a  pitcher  of  wine,  bread,  and  a  harlequin,  of  which  we  will  not 
attempt  to  give  an  idea  to  the  reader,  but  which  appeared  most 

*  A  "harlequin  "  is  a  collection  of  odds  and  ends  of  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl, 
after  they  come  from  table,  which  the  Parisian,  providing  for  the  class  to 
Which  the  Chourineur  belongs,  finds  a  profitable  and  popular  composition. 


THE  OGRESS.  13 

relishing  to  the  Chourineur;  for  he  exclaimed,  "  Di&u  de  Dieu! 
what  a  dish!  —  what  a  glorious  dish!  it  is  a  regular  omnibus; 
there  is  something  in  it  to  everybody's  taste.  Those  who  like 
fat  can  have  it;  so  can  they  who  like  lean;  as  well  as  those 
who  prefer  sugar,  and  those  who  choose  pepper.  There's  tender 
bits  of  chicken,  biscuit,  sausage,  tarts,  mutton-bones,  pastry 
crust,  fried  fish,  vegetables,  woodcocks'  heads,  cheese,  and  salad. 
Come,  eat,  Goualeuse,  eat  ;  it  is  so  capital  !  You  have  been  to 
a  wedding-breakfast  somewhere  this  morning." 

"  No  more  than  on  other  mornings.  I  ate  this  morning,  as 
usual,  my  ha'porth  of  milk,  and  my  ha'porth  of  bread." 

The  entrance  of  another  personage  into  the  cabaret  interrupted 
all  conversation  for  a  moment,  and  everybody  turned  his  head  in 
the  direction  of  the  newcomer,  who  was  a  middle-aged  man, 
active,  and  powerful,  wearing  a  loose  coat  and  cap.  He  was 
evidently  quite  at  home  in  the  tapis-franc,  and,  in  language 
familiar  to  all  the  guests,  requested  to  be  supplied  with  supper. 
He  was  so  placed,  that  he  could  observe  the  two  ill-looking 
scoundrels  who  had  asked  after  Gros-Boiteux  and  the  School- 
master. He  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  them  ;  but,  in  consequence 
of  their  position,  they  could  not  see  that  they  were  the  objects 
of  such  marked  and  constant  attention. 

The  conversation,  momentarily  interrupted,  was  resumed.  In 
spite  of  his  natural  audacity,  the  Chourineur  showed  a  def- 
erence for  Rodolph,  and  abstained  from  familiarity. 

"  By  Jove,"  said  he  to  Rodolph,  "  although  I  have  smarted 
for  it,  yet  I  am  very  glad  to  have  met  with  you." 

"  What!  because  you  relish  the  harlequin?" 

"  Why,  maybe  so  ;  but  more  because  I  am  all  on  the  fret  to 
see  you  '  serve  out  '  the  Schoolmaster.  To  see  him  who  has 
always  crowed  over  me,  crowed  over  in  his  turn  would  do  me 
good." 

"  Do  you  suppose,  then,  that  for  your  amusement,  I  mean  to 
spring  at  the  Schoolmaster,  and  pin  him  like  a  bull-dog?" 

"  No,  but  he'll  have  at  you  in  a  moment,  when  he  learns  that 

u  are  a  better  man  than  he,"  replied  the  Ohourineur,  rubbing 
is  hands. 

"Well,  I  have  coin  enough  left  to  pay  him  in  full,"  said 
Eodolph,  in  a  careless  tone;  "but  it  is  horrible  weather:  what 
say  you  to  a  cup  of  brandy  with  sugar  in  it  ?  " 

"  That's  the  ticket  !  "  said  the  Chourineur. 

"And,  that  we  may  be  better  acquainted,  we  will  tell  each 
other  who  we  are,"  added  Rodolph. 

"The  Albinos  called  the  Chourineur  a  freed  convict,  worker 


yo 
hi 


14  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

at  the  wood  that  floats  at  St.  Paul's  Quay ;  frozen  in  the  winter, 
scorched  in  the  summer,  from  twelve  to  fifteen  hours  a-day  in 
the  water;  half  man,  half  frog;  that's  my  description,"  said 
Rodolph's  companion,  making  him  a  military  salute  with  his 
left  hand.  "  Well,  now,  and  you,  my  master,  this  is  your  first 
appearance  in  the  Cite.  I  don't  mean  anything  to  offend;  but 
you  entered  head  foremost  against  my  skull,  and  beating  the 
drum  on  my  carcase.  By  all  that's  ugly,  what  a  rattling  you 
made,  especially  with  these  blows  with  which  you  doubled  me  up ! 
I  never  can  forget  them — thick  as  buttons — what  a  torrent ! 
But  you  have  some  trade  besides  '  polishing  off '  the  Chou- 
rineur  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  fan-painter,  and  my  name  is  Rodolph." 

"  A  fan-painter !  ah !  that's  the  reason,  then,  that  your  hands 
are  so  white,"  added  the  Chourineur.  "If  all  your  fellow- 
workmen  are  like  you,  there  must  be  a  tidy  lot  of  you.  But, 
as  you  are  a  workman,  what  brings  you  to  a  tapis-franc  in  the 
Cite,  where  there  are  only  prigs,  cracksmen,  or  freed  convicts 
like  myself,  and  who  only  come  here  because  we  cannot  go  else- 
where ?  This  is  no  place  for  you.  Honest  mechanics  have  their 
coffee-shops,  and  don't  talk  slang." 

"I  come  here  because  I  like  good  company." 

"  Gammon ! "  said  the  Chourineur,  shaking  his  head  with  an 
air  of  doubt.  "  I  found  you  in  the  passage  of  Bras  Rouge. 
Well,  man,  never  mind.  You  say  you  don't  know  him  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  with  all  your  nonsense  about  your 
Bras  Rouge?  Let  him  go  to  the " 

"  Stay,  master  of  mine.  You,  perhaps,  distrust  me :  but  you 
are  wrong ;  and  if  you  like  I  will  tell  you  my  history ;  but  that 
is  on  condition  that  you  teach  me  how  to  give  those  precious 
thumps  which  settled  my  business  so  quickly.  What  say  you  ?  " 

"I  agree,  Chourineur;  tell  me  your  story,  and  Goualeuse  will 
also  tell  hers." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  Chourineur ;  "  it  is  not  weather  to 
turn  a  mangy  cur  out  of  doors,  and  it  will  be  an  amusement.  Do 
you  agree,  Goualeuse  ?  " 

"Oh,  certainly;  but  my  story  is  a  very  short  one,"  said 
Fleur-de-Marie. 

"  And  you  will  have  to  tell  us  your  history,  comrade  Rodolph," 
added  the  Chourineur. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  begin." 

"  Fan-painter !  "  said  Goualeuse,  "  what  a  very  pretty  trade !  " 

"And  how  much  can  you  earn  if  you  stick  close  to  work?" 
inquired  the  Chourineur. 


THE  OGRESS.  15 

"  I  work  by  the  piece,"  responded  Rodolph ;  "  my  good  days 
are  worth  three  francs,  sometimes  four,  in  summer,  when  the 
days  are  long." 

"  And  you  are  idle,  sometimes,  you  rascal  ?  " 

"  Yes,  as  long  as  I  have  money,  though  I  do  not  waste  it. 
First,  I  pay  ten  sous  for  my  night's  lodging." 

"  Your  pardon,  Monseigneur,  you  sleep,  then,  at  ten  sous, 
you  do  ?  "  said  the  Chourineur,  raising  his  hand  to  his  cap. 

The  word  Monseigneur  spoken  ironically  by  the  Chourineur, 
caused  an  almost  imperceptible  smile  on  the  lips  of  Rodolph,  who 
replied,  "  Oh,  I  like  to  be  clean  and  comfortable." 

"  Here's  a  peer  of  the  realm  for  you !  a  man  with  mines  of 
wealth ! "  exclaimed  the  Chourineur ;  "  he  pays  ten  sous  for  his 
bed ! " 

"  Well,  then,"1  continued  Rodolph,  "  four  sous  for  tobacco ;  that 
makes  fourteen  sous;  four  sous  for  breakfast,  eighteen;  fifteen 
sous  for  dinner;  one  or  two  sous  for  brandy;  that  all  comes  to 
about  thirty-four  or  thirty-five  sous  a-day.  I  have  no  occasion 
to  work  all  the  week,  and  so  the  rest  of  the  time  I  amuse  myself." 

"  And  your  family  ?  "  said  the  Goualeuse. 

"  Dead,"  replied  Rodolph. 

"  Who  were  your  friends  ?  "  asked  the  Goualeuse. 

"  Dealers  in  old  clothes  and  marine  stores  under  the  pillars  of 
the  market-place." 

"How  did  you  spend  what  they  left  you?"  inquired  the 
Chourineur. 

"I  was  very  young,  and  my  guardian  sold  the  stock ;  and, 
when  I  came  of  age,  he  brought  me  in  his  debtor  for  thirty 
francs;  that  was  my  inheritance." 

"  And  who  is  now  your  employer?  "  the  Chourineur  demanded. 

"  His  name  is  Gauthier,  in  the  Rue  des  Bourdonnais,  a  beast — 
brute — thief — miser!  he  would  almost  as  soon  lose  the  sight  of 
an  eye  as  pay  his  workmen.  Now,  this  is  as  true  a  description 
as  I  can  give  you  of  him :  so  let's  have  done  with  him.  I  learned 
my  trade  under  him  from  the  time  when  I  was  fifteen  years  of 
age;  I  have  a  good  number  in  the  Conscription,  and  my  name 
is  Rodolph  Durand.  My  history  is  told." 

"  ISTow,  it's  your  turn,  Goualeuse,"  said  the  Chourineur ;  "  I 
keep  my  history  till  last,  as  a  bonne  louche." 


16  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

CHAPTER  III. 

HISTORY  OF  LA  GOUALEUSE. 

"  LET  us  begin  at  the  beginning,"  said  the  Chourineur. 

"  Yes.     Your  parents  ?  "  added  Eodolph. 

"  I  never  knew  them,"  said  Fleur-de-Marie. 

"The  deuce!"  said  the  Chourineur.  "Well,  that  is  odd, 
Goualeuse !  you  and  I  are  of  the  same  family." 

"  What !  you,  too,  Chourineur  ?  " 

"  An  orphan  of  the  streets  of  Paris  like  you,  my  girl." 

"  Then  who  brought  you  up,  Goualeuse  ? "  asked  Eodolph. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  As  far  back  as  I  can  remember — I 
was,  I  think,  about  six  or  seven  years  old — I  was  with  an 
old  one-eyed  woman,  whom  they  call  the  Chouette,*  because  she 
had  a  hooked  nose,  a  green  eye  quite  round,  and  was  like  an  owl 
with  one  eye  out." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  I  think  I  see  her,  the  old  night-bird !  "  shouted 
the  Chourineur,  laughing. 

"  The  one-eyed  woman,"  resumed  Fleur-de-Marie,  "  made  me 
sell  barley-sugar  in  the  evenings  on  the  Pont  Neuf:  but  that 
was  only  an  excuse  for  asking  charity ;  and  when  I  did  not  bring 
her  in  at  least  ten  sous,  the  Chouette  beat  me  instead  of  giving 
me  any  supper." 

"  Are  you  sure  the  woman  was  not  your  mother  ?  "  inquired 
Rodolph. 

"  Quite  sure :  for  she  often  scolded  me  for  being  fatherless  and 
motherless,  and  said  she  picked  me  up  one  day  in  the  street." 

"  So,"  said  the  Chourineur,  "  you  had  a  dance  instead  of  a 
meal,  if  you  did  not  pick  up  ten  sous  ?  " 

"  Yes.  And  after  that  I  went  to  lie  down  on  some  straw 
spread  on  the  ground;  when  I  was  cold — very  cold." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  for  the  feather  of  beans  (straw)  is  a  very 
cold  sort  of  stuff,"  said  the  Chourineur.  "A  dung-heap  is 
twice  as  good ;  but  then  people  don't  like  your  smell,  and  say, 
'  Oh,  the  blackguard !  where  has  he  been  ? '  * 

This  remark  made  Rodolph  smile,  whilst  Fleur-de-Marie  thus 
continued : — "  Next  day  the  one-eyed  woman  gave  me  a  similar 
allowance  for  breakfast  as  for  supper,  and  sent  me  to  Montf augon 
to  get  some  worms  to  bait  for  fish;  for  in  the  day-time  the 
Chouette  kept  her  stall  for  selling  fishing-lines,  near  the  bridge 
*  The  Screech-owl. 


OF  LA  GO UALEUSE.  17 

of  Notre  Dame.  For  a  child  of  seven  years  of  age,  who  is 
half-dead  with  hunger  and  cold,  it  is  a  long  way  from  the 
Hue  de  la  Mortellerie  to  Montfaugon." 

"  But  exercise  has  made  you  grow  as  straight  as  an  arrow,  my 
girl:  you  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  that,"  said  the  Chou- 
rineur,  striking  a  light  for  his  pipe. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Goualeuse,  "  I  returned  very,  very  tired ; 
then,  at  noon,  the  Chouette  gave  me  a  little  bit  of  bread." 

"  Ah,  eating  so  little  has  kept  your  figure  as  fine  as  a  needle, 
girl:  you  must  not  find  fault  with  that,"  said  the  Chourineur, 
puffing  out  a  cloud  of  tobacco-smoke.  "  But  what  ails  you,  com- 
rade— I  mean,  Master  Rodolph?  You  seem  quite  down  like: 
are  you  sorry  for  the  girl  and  her  miseries?  Ah,  we  all  have, 
and  have  had,  our  miseries !  " 

"  Yes,  but  not  such  miseries  as  mine,  Chourineur,"  said  Fleur- 
de-Marie. 

"  What !  not  I,  Goualeuse  ?  Why,  my  lass,  you  were  a  queen 
to  me !  At  least,  when  you  were  little  you  slept  on  straw  and 
ate  bread :  I  passed  my  most  comfortable  nights  in  the  lime- 
kilns at  Clichy,  like  a  regular  vagabond;  I  fed  on  cabbage- 
stumps  and  other  refuse  vegetables,  which  I  picked  up  when  and 
where  I  could ;  but  very  often,  as  it  was  so  far  to  the  lime-kilns 
at  Clichy,  and  I  was  tired  after  my  work,  I  slept  under  the 
large  stones  at  the  Louvre;  and  then,  in  winter,  I  had  white 
sheets — that  is,  whenever  the  snow  fell." 

"  A  man  is  stronger :  but  a  poor  little  girl "  said  Fleur- 

de-Marie.  "And  yet,  with  all  that,  I  was  as  plump  as  a 
skylark." 

"What!  you  remember  that,  eh?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  do.  When  the  Chouette  beat  me  I  fell  always 
at  the  first  blow;  then  she  stamped  upon  me,  screaming  out, 
'  Ah,  the  nasty  little  brute !  she  hasn't  a  farden's  worth  of 
strength — she  can't  stand  even  two  thumps ! '  And  then  she 
called  me  Pegriotte  (little  thief) :  I  never  had  any  other  name — 
that,  was  my  baptismal  name." 

"  Like  me.  I  had  the  baptism  of  a  dog  in  a  ditch,  and  they 
called  me  'Fellow/  or  'You,  sir/  or  'Albino.'  It  is  really 
surprising,  my  wench,  how  much  we  resemble  each  other ! " 
said  the  Chourineur. 

"That's  true — in  our  misery,"  said  Fleur-de-Marie,  who 
addressed  herself  to  the  Chourineur  almost  always,  feeling,  in 
spite  of  herself,  a  sort  of  shame  at  the  presence  of  Rodolph, 
hardly  venturing  to  raise  her  eyes  to  him,  although  in  appearance 
he  belonged  to  that  class  with  whom  she  ordinarily  lived. 


13  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"And  when  you  had  fetched  the  worms  for  the  Chouette. 
what  did  you  do  ?  "  inquired  the  Chourineur. 

"  Why,  she  made  me  beg  until  night :  then,  in  the  evening,  she 
went  to  sell  fried  fish  on  the  Pont  Neuf.  Oh,  dear !  at  that  time 
it  was  a  long  while  to  wait  for  my  morsel  of  bread;  and  if  I 
dared  to  ask  the  Chouette  for  something  to  eat,  she  beat  me  and 
said, '  Get  ten  sous,  and  then  you  shall  have  your  supper/  Then 
I,  being  very  hungry,  and  as  she  hurt  me  very  much,  cried  with 
a  very  full  heart  and  sore  body.  The  Chouette  tied  my  little 
basket  of  barley-sugar  round  my  neck,  and  stationed  me  on 
the  Pont  Neuf,  where,  in  winter,  I  was  frozen  to  death.  Yet 
sometimes,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  slept  as  J  stood — but  not  long; 
for  the  Chouette  kicked  me  until  I  awoke.  I  remained  on  the 
bridge  till  eleven  o'clock,  my  stock  of  barley-sugar  hanging 
round  my  neck,  and  often  crying  heartily.  The  passengers, 
touched  by  my  tears,  sometimes  gave  me  a  sous;  and  then  I 
gained  ten  and  sometimes  fifteen  sous,  which  I  gave  to  the 
Chouette,  who  searched  me  all  over,  and  even  looked  in  my 
mouth,  to  see  if  I  had  kept  back  anything." 

"  Well,  fifteen  sous  was  a  good  haul  for  a  little  bird  like 
you." 

"  It  was.     And  then  the  one-eyed  woman  seeing  that " 

"  With  her  one  eye  ?  "  said  the  Chourineur,  laughing. 

"  Of  course,  because  she  had  but  one.  Well,  then,  she  finding 
that  when  I  cried  I  got  most  money,  always  beat  me  severely 
before  she  put  me  on  the  bridge." 

"  Brutal,  but  cunning." 

"  Well,  at  last  I  got  hardened  to  blows ;  and  as  the  Chouette 
got  in  a  passion  when  I  did  not  cry,  why  I,  to  be  revenged  upon 
her,  the  more  she  thumped  me  the  more  I  laughed,  although  the 
tears  came  into  my  eyes  with  the  pain." 

"  But,  poor  Goualeuse,  did  not  the  sticks  of  barley-sugar 
make  you  long  for  them  ?  " 

"Ah,  yes,  Chourineur;  but  I  never  tasted  them.  It  was 
my  ambition,  and  my  ambition  ruined  me.  One  day,  returning 
from  Montfaugon,  some  little  boys  beat  me  and  stole  my  basket. 
I  came  back,  well  knowing  what  was  in  store  for  me ;  and  I  had 
a  shower  of  thumps  and  no  bread.  In  the  evening,  before  going 
to  the  bridge,  the  Chouette,  savage  because  I  had  not  brought  in 
anything  the  evening  before,  instead  of  beating  me  as  usual 
to  make  me  cry,  made  me  bleed  by  pulling  my  hair  from  the 
sides  of  the  temples,  where  it  is  most  tender." 

"  Tonnerre!  that  was  coming  it  too  strong/'  said  the  bandit, 
striking  his  fist  heavily  on  the  table,  and  frowning  sternly.  "  To 


HISTORY  OF  LA  OOUALEUSE.  19 

beat  a  child  is  no  such  great  thing,  but  to  ill-use  one  so 

Heaven  and  earth !  " 

Kodolph  had  listen  attentively  to  the  recital  of  Fleur-de- 
Marie,  and  now  looked  at  the  Chourineur  with  astonishment :  the 
display  of  such  feeling  quite  surprised  him. 

"  What  ails  you,  Chourineur  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  What  ails  me?— ails  me?  Why,  have  you  no  feeling?  That 
devil's  dam  of  a  Chouette  who  so  brutally  used  this  girl !  Are 
you  as  hard  as  your  own  fists  ?  " 

"  Go  on,  my  girl,"  said  Rodolph  to  Fleur-de-Marie,  without 
appearing  to  notice  the  Chourineur's  appeal. 

"  I  have  told  you  how  the  Chouette  ill-used  me  to  make  me 
cry.  I  was  then  sent  on  to  the  bridge  with  my  barley-sugar. 
The  one-eyed  was  at  her  usual  spot,  and  from  time  to  time 
shook  her  doubled  fist  at  me.  However,  as  I  had  not  broken 
my  fast  since  the  night  before,  and  as  I  was  very  hungry,  at 
the  risk  of  putting  the  Chouette  in  a  passion,  I  took  a  piece 
of  barley-sugar,  and  began  to  eat  it." 

"  Well  done,  girl !  " 

"  I  ate  another  piece " 

"  Bravo !  go  it,  my  hearties !  " 

"I  found  it  so  good,  not  from  daintiness,  but  real  hunger. 
But  then  a  woman,  who  sold  oranges,  cried  out  to  the  one-eyed 
woman,  '  Look  ye  there,  Chouette ;  Pegriotte  is  eating  the  barley- 
sugar  ! ' ' 

"  Oh,  thunder  and  lightning !  "  said  the  Chourineur ;  "  that 
would  enrage  her — make  her  in  a  passion!  Poor  little  mouse, 
what  a  fright  you  were  in  when  the  Chouette  saw  you  ! — eh  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  get  out  of  that  affair,  poor  Goualeuse  ?  "  asked 
Eodolph,  with  as  much  interest  as  the  Chourineur. 

"  Why,  it  was  a  serious  matter  to  me — but  that  was  after- 
wards; for  the  Chouette,  although  boiling  over  with  rage  at 
seeing  me  devour  the  barley-sugar,  could  not  leave  her  stove,  for 
the  fish  was  frying." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  True,  true — that  was  a  difficult  position  for 
her,"  said  the  Chourineur,  laughing  heartily. 

"  At  a  distance,  the  Chouette  threatened  me  with  her  long 
iron  fork;  but,  when  her  fish  was  cooked,  she  came  towards  me. 
I  had  only  collected  three  sous,  and  I  had  eaten  six  sous'  worth. 
She  did  not  say  a  word,  but  took  me  by  the  hand  and  dragged  me 
away  with  her.  At  this  moment,  I  do  not  know  how  it  was  that 
I  did  not  die  on  the  spot  with  fright.  I  remember  it  as  well  as 
if  it  was  this  very  moment — it  was  very  near  to  New-year's  day, 
and  there  were  a  great  many  shops  on  the  Pont  Neuf,  all  filled 


20  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

with  toys,  and  I  had  been  looking  at  them  all  the  evening  with 
the  greatest  delight — beautiful  dolls,  little  furnished  houses, — 
you  know  how  very  amusing  such  things  are  for  a  child." 

"  You  had  never  had  any  playthings,  had  you,  Goualeuse  ?  " 
asked  the  Chourineur. 

"  I  ?  Mon  Dieu!  who  was  there  to  give  me  any  playthings?  " 
said  the  girl,  in  a  sad  tone.  "  Well,  the  evening  passed. 
Although  it  was  in  the  depth  of  winter,  I  only  had  on  a  little 
cotton  gown,  no  stockings,  no  shift,  and  with  wooden  shoes  on 
my  feet:  that  was  not  enough  to  stifle  me  with  heat,  was  it? 
Well,  when  the  old  woman  took  my  hand,  I  burst  out  into  a 
perspiration  from  head  to  foot.  What  frightened  me  most  was, 
that,  instead  of  swearing  and  storming  as  usual,  she  only  kept 
on  grumbling  between  her  teeth.  She  never  let  go  my  hand,  but 
made  me  walk  so  fast — so  very  fast — that  I  was  obliged  to  run 
to  keep  up  with  her,  and  in  running  I  had  lost  one  of  my  wooden 
shoes ;  and  as  I  did  not  dare  to  say  so,  I  followed  her  with  one 
foot  naked  on  the  bare  stones.  When  we  reached  home  it  was 
covered  with  blood." 

"  A  one-eyed  old  devil's  kin ! "  said  the  Chourineur,  again 
thumping  the  table  in  his  anger.  "  It  makes  my  heart  quite  cold 
to  think  of  the  poor  little  thing  trotting  along  beside  that  cursed 
old  brute,  with  her  poor  little  foot  all  bloody ! " 

"  We  lived  in  a  garret  in  the  Rue  de  la  Montellerie :  beside  the 
entrance  to  our  alley  there  was  a  dram-shop,  and  there  the 
Chouette  went  in,  still  dragging  me  by  the  hand.  She  then  had 
a  half-pint  of  brandy  at  the  bar." 

"  The  deuce !  Why,  I  could  not  drink  that  without  being 
quite  fuddled ! " 

"  It  was  her  usual  quantity :  perhaps  that  was  the  reason  why 
she  beat  me  of  an  evening.  Well,  at  last  we  got  up  into  our 
cock-loft;  the  Chouette  double-locked  the  door;  I  threw  myself 
on  my  knees,  and  asked  her  pardon  for  having  eaten  the  barley- 
sugar.  She  did  not  answer  me,  but  I  heard  her  mumbling  to 
herself  as  she  walked  about  the  room,  'What  shall  I  do  this 
evening  to  this  little  thief,  who  has  eaten  all  that  barley-sugar? 
Ah,  I  see ! '  And  she  looked  at  me  maliciously  with  her  one 
green  eye.  I  was  still  on  my  knees,  when  she  suddenly  went 
to  a  shelf  and  took  down  a  pair  of  pincers." 

"  Pincers !  "  exclaimed  the  Chourineur. 

"Yes,  pincers." 

"What  for?" 

"  To  strike  you  ?  "  inquired  Rodolph. 

"  To  pinch  you  ?  "  said  the  Chourineur, 


HISTOR  Y  OF  LA  00  UALE  USE.  21 

"  No,  no,"  answered  the  poor  girl,  trembling  at  the  very  recol- 
lection. 

"  To  pull  out  your  hair  ?  " 

"  No ;  to  take  out  one  of  my  teeth." 

The  Chourineur  uttered  a  blasphemous  oath,  accompanied  with 
such  furious  imprecations,  that  all  the  guests  in  the  tapis-franc 
looked  at  him  with  astonishment. 

"'  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  "  asked  Eodolph. 

"  The  matter !  the  matter !  I'll  skin  her  alive,  that  infernal 
old  hag!  if  I  can  catch  her.  Where  is  she? — tell  me,  where  is 
she  ?  Let  me  find  her,  and  I'll  throttle  the  old " 

"  And  did  she  really  take  out  your  tooth,  my  poor  child — that 
wretched  monster  in  woman's  shape?"  demanded  Kodolph, 
whilst  the  Chourineur  was  venting  his  rage  in  a  volley  of  the 
most  violent  reproaches. 

"Yes,  sir;  but  not  at  the  first  pull.  How  I  suffered! 
She  held  me  with  my  head  between  her  knees,  where  she  held 
it  as  if  in  a  vice.  Then,  half  with  her  pincers,  half  with  her 
fingers,  she  pulled  out  my  tooth,  and  then  said,  '  Now  I  will  pull 
out  one  every  day,  Pegriotte;  and  when  you  have  not  a  tooth 
left  I  will  throw  you  into  the  river,  and  the  fish  shall  eat  you.' " 

"  The  old  devil !  to  break  and  pull  out  a  poor  child's  teeth  in 
that  way ! "  exclaimed  the  Chourineur,  with  redoubled  fury. 

"  And  how  did  you  escape  her,  then  ?  "  inquired  Eodolph  of 
the  Goualeuse. 

"Next  day.  instead  of  going  to  Montfaugon,  I  went  on  the 
side  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  so  frightened  was  I  of  being  drowned 
by  the  Chouette.  I  would  have  run  to  the  end  of  the  world, 
rather  than  be  again  in  the  Chouette's  hands.  After  walking 
and  walking,  I  fairly  lost  myself:  I  had  not  begged  a  farthing, 
and  the  more  I  thought  the  more  frightened  did  I  become.  At 
night  I  hid  myself  in  a  timber-yard,  under  some  piles  of  wood. 
As  I  was  very  little,  I  was  able  to  creep  under  an  old  door  and 
hide  myself  amongst  a  heap  of  logs.  I  was  so  hungry  that  I 
tried  to  gnaw  a  piece  of  the  bark,  but  I  could  not  bite  it — it  was 
too  hard.  At  length  I  fell  asleep.  In  the  morning,  hearing  a 
noise,  I  hid  myself  still  further  back  in  the  wood-pile.  It  was 
tolerably  warm,  and,  if  I  had  had  something  to  eat,  I  could  not 
have  been  better  off  for  the  winter." 

"  Like  me  in  the  lime-kiln." 

"  I  did  not  dare  to  quit  the  timber-yard,  for  I  fancied  that  the 
Chouette  would  seek  for  me  everywhere,  to  pull  out  my  teeth 
and  drown  me,  and  that  she  would  be  sure  to  catch  me  if  I 
stirred  from  where  I  was." 


22  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Stay,  do  not  mention  that  old  beast's  name  again — it  makes 
the  blood  come  into  my  eyes !  The  fact  is,  that  you  have  known 
misery — bitter,  bitter  misery.  Poor  little  mite !  how  sorry  I  am 
that  I  threatened  to  beat  you  just  now,  and  frightened  you.  As 
I  am  a  man,  I  did  not  mean  to  do  it." 

"  Why,  would  you  not  have  beaten  me  ?  I  have  no  one  to  de- 
fend me." 

"  That's  the  very  reason,  because  you  are  not  like  the  others 
— because  you  have  no  one  to  take  your  part,  that  I  would  not 
have  beaten  you.  When  I  say  no  one,  I  do  not  mean  our  com- 
rade Eodolph ;  but  his  coming  was  a  chance,  and  he  certainly  did 
give  me  my  full  allowance  when  we  met." 

"  Go  on,  my  child,"  said  Eodolph.  "  How  did  you  get  away 
form  the  timber-yard  ?  " 

"  Next  day,  about  noon,  I  heard  a  great  dog  barking  under 
the  wood-pile.  I  listened,  and  the  bark  came  nearer  and  nearer; 
then  a  deep  voice  exclaimed,  '  My  dog  barks — somebody  is  hid 
in  the  yard ! '  '  They  are  thieves/  said  another  voice ;  and  the 
men  then  began  to  encourage  the  dog,  and  cry,  '  Find  'em !  find 
'em,  lad ! '  The  dog  ran  to  me,  and,  for  fear  of  being  bitten,  I 
began  to  cry  out  with  all  my  might  and  main.  '  Hark ! '  said  one 
of  them : '  I  hear  the  cry  of  a  child.'  They  called  back  the  dog ;  I 
came  out  from  the  pile  of  wood,  and  saw  a  gentleman  and  a  man 
in  a  blouse.  '  Ah,  you  little  thief !  what  are  you  doing  in  my  tim- 
ber-yard ? '  said  the  gentleman,  in  a  cross  tone.  I  put  my  hands 
together  and  said,  '  Don't  hurt  me,  pray :  I  have  had  nothing  to 
eat  for  two  days,  and  I've  run  away  from  the  Chouette,  who 
pulled  out  my  tooth,  and  said  she  would  throw  me  over  to  the 
fishes.  Not  knowing  where  to  sleep,  I  was  passing  before  your 
door,  and  I  slept  for  the  night  amongst  these  logs,  under  this 
heap,  not  thinking  I  hurt  anybody.' " 

" '  I'm  not  to  be  gammoned  by  you,  you  little  hussy !  You 
came  to  steal  my  logs.  Go  and  call  the  watch/  said  the  timber- 
merchant  to  his  man." 

"  Ah,  the  old  vagabond !  the  old  reprobate !  Call  the  watch ! 
Why  didn't  he  send  for  the  artillery?"  said  the  Chourineur. 
"  Steal  his  logs,  and  you  only  eight  years  old !  What  an  old 
ass ! " 

" '  Not  true,  sir/  his  man  replied.  '  Steal  your  logs,  master ! 
How  can  she  do  that  ?  She  is  not  so  big  as  the  smallest  piece ! ' 
'  You  are  right/  replied  the  timber-merchant :  '  but  if  she  does 
not  come  for  herself,  she  does  for  others.  Thieves  have  a  parcel 
of  children,  whom  they  send  to  pry  about  and  hide  themselves 
to  open  the  doors  of  houses.  She  must  be  taken  to  the  commis- 
sary, and  mind  she  does  not  escape/" 


m STORY  OF  LA  GOUALEUSE.  23 

"  Upon  my  life,  this  timber-merchant  was  more  of  a  log  than 
any  log  in  his  own  yard,"  said  the  Chourineur. 

"  I  was  taken  to  the  commissary,"  resumed  Goualeuse.  "  I 
accused  myself  of  being  a  wanderer,  and  they  sent  me  to  prison. 
I  was  sent  before  the  Tribunal,  and  sentenced,  as  a  rogue  and 
vagabond,  to  remain  until  I  was  sixteen  years  of  age  in  a  house 
of  correction.  I  thank  the  judges  much  for  their  kindness;  for 
in  prison  I  had  food,  I  was  not  beaten,  and  it  was  a  paradise 
after  the  cock-loft  of  the  Chouette.  Then,  in  prison  I  learned 
to  sew;  but — sad  to  say! — I  was  idle:  I  preferred  singing  to 
work,  and  particularly  when  I  saw  the  sun  shine.  Ah,  when  the 
sun  shone  on  the  walls  of  the  prison  I  could  not  help  singing; 
and  then,  when  I  could  sing,  I  seemed  no  longer  to  be  a  prisoner. 
It  was  after  I  began  to  sing  so  much  that  they  called  me 
Goualeuse,  instead  of  Pegriotte.  Well,  when  I  was  sixteen,  I 
left  the  jail.  At  the  door,  I  found  the  ogress  here,  and  two  or 
three  old  women,  who  had  come  to  see  my  fellow-prisoners,  and 
who  had  always  told  me  that  when  I  left  the  prison  they  would 
find  work  for  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see,"  said  the  Chourineur. 

"  '  My  pretty  little  maid,'  said  the  ogress  and  her  old  compan- 
ions, 'come  and  lodge  with  us:  we  will  give  you  good  clothes, 
and  then  you  may  amuse  yourself.'  I  didn't  like  them,  and  re- 
fused, saying  to  myself, '  I  know  how  to  sew  very  well,  and  I  have 
two  hundred  francs  in  hand.  I  have  been  eight  years  in  prison, 
I  should  like  to  enjoy  myself  a  bit — that  won't  hurt  anybody: 
work  will  come  when  the  money  is  spent.'  And  so  I  began  to 
spend  my  two  hundred  francs.  Ah,  that  was  my  mistake,"  added 
Fleur-de-Marie,  with  a  sigh.  "I  ought  first  to  have  got  my 
work :  but  I  hadn't  a  soul  on  earth  to  advise  me.  At  sixteen,  to 
be  thrown  on  the  city  of  Paris,  as  I  was,  one  is  so  lonely;  and 
what  is  done  is  done.  I  have  done  wrong,  and  I  have  suffered 
for  it.  I  began  then  to  spend  my  money :  first,  I  bought  flowers 
to  put  in  my  room — I  do  love  flowers !  then  I  bought  a  gown, 
a  nice  shawl,  and  I  took  a  walk  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  I 
went  to  St.  Germains,  Vincennes,  and  other  country  places.  Oh, 
how  I  love  the  country !  " 

"  With  a  lover  by  your  side,  my  girl  ?  "  asked  the  Chourineur. 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu!  no!  I  like  to  be  my  own  mistress.  I  had 
my  little  excursions  with  a  friend  who  was  in  prison  with  me — 
a  good  little  girl  as  can  be :  they  call  her  Rigolette,  because  she 
is  always  laughing." 

"  Bigolette !  Rigolette !  I  don't  know  her,"  said  the  Chouri- 
neur, who  appeared  to  be  appealing  to  his  memory. 


24  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

e<  I  didn't  think  you  knew  her.  I  am  sure  Rigolette  was  very 
well  behaved  in  prison,  and  always  so  gay  and  so  industrious,  she 
took  out  with  her  when  she  left  the  prison  at  least  four  hundred 
francs  that  she  had  earned.  And  then  she  is  so  particular ! — 
you  should  see  her!  When  I  say  I  had  no  one  to  advise  me,  I 
am  wrong :  I  ought  to  have  listened  to  her :  for,  after  having  had 
a  week's  amusement  together,  she  said  to  me,  '  Now  we  have  had 
such  a  holiday,  we  ought  to  try  for  work,  and  not  spend  our 
money  in  waste/  I,  who  was  so  happy  in  the  fields  and  the 
woods — it  was  just  at  the  end  of  spring,  this  year — I  answered, 
'  Oh,  I  must  he  idle  a  little  longer,  and  then  I  will  work  hard/ 
Since  that  time  I  have  not  seen  Rigolett,e,  but  I  heard  a  few 
days  since  that  she  was  living  near  the  Temple — that  she  was  a 
famous  needlewoman,  and  earned  at  least  twenty-five  sous  a 
day,  and  has  a  small  workroom  of  her  own :  but  now  I  could  not 
for  the  world  see  her  again — I  should  die  with  shame  if  I  met 
her." 

"  So,  then,  my  poor  girl,"  said  Rodolph,  "  you  spent  your 
money  in  the  country — you  like  the  country,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Like  it  ?  I  love  it !  Oh  !  what  would  I  not  give  to  live  there  ? 
Rigolette,  on  the  contrary,  prefers  Paris,  and  likes  to  walk  on  the 
Boulevards;  but  she  is  so  nice  and  so  kind,  she  went  into  the 
country  only  to  please  me/' 

"  And  you  did  not  even  leave  yourself  a  few  sous  to  live  upon 
whilst  you  found  work?"  said  the  Chourineur. 

"  Yes,  I  had  reserved  about  fifty  francs ;  but  it  happened  that 
I  had  for  my  washerwoman  a  woman  called  Lorraine,  a  poor 
thing,  with  none  but  the  good  God  to  protect  her.  She  was  then 
very  near  her  confinement,  and  yet  was  obliged  all  day  long  to  be 
with  her  hands  and  feet  in  her  washing-tubs.  She  fell  sick,  and, 
not  being  able  to  work,  applied  for  admittance  to  a  lying-in 
hospital,  but  there  was  no  room.  She  could  not  work,  and  her 
time  was  very  near  at  hand,  and  she  had  not  a  sous  to  pay  for 
the  bed  in  a  garret,  from  which  they  drove  her.  Fortunately,  she 
met  one  day,  at  the  end  of  the  Pont  Notre-Dame,  with  Goubin's 
wife,  who  had  been  hiding  for  four  days  in  a  cellar  of  a  house 
which  was  being  pulled  down  behind  the  Hotel  Dieu " 

"  But  why  was  Goubin's  wife  hiding  ?  " 

"  To  escape  from  her  husband,  who  threatened  to  kill  her ; 
and  she  only  went  out  at  night  to  buy  some  bread,  and  it  was 
then  she  met  with  the  poor  Lorraine,  ill,  and  hardly  able  to 
drag  herself  along,  for  she  was  expecting  to  be  brought  to  bed 
every  hour.  Well,  it  seems  this  Goubin's  wife  took  her  to  the 
cellar  where  she  was  hiding — it  was  just  a  shelter,  and  no  more. 


BISTORT  OF  LA  QOUALEUSE.  25 

There  she  shared  her  bread  and  straw  with  the  poor  Lorraine, 
who  was  confined  in  this  cellar  of  a  poor  little  infant:  her  only 
covering  and  bed  was  straw !  Well,  it  seems  that  Goubin's  wife 
could  not  bear  it,  and  so,  going  out  at  all  risks,  even  of  being 
killed  by  her  husband,  who  was  looking  for  her  everywhere,  she 
left  the  cellar  in  open  day,  and  came  to  me.  She  knew  I  had 
still  a  little  money  left,  and  that  I  could  assist  her  if  I  would; 
so,  when  Helmina  had  told  me  all  about  poor  Lorraine,  who  was 
obliged  to  lie  with  her  new-born  babe  on  straw,  I  told  her  to  bring 
thorn  both  to  my  room  at  once,  and  I  would  take  a  chamber  for 
her  next  to  mine.  This  I  did ;  and,  oh !  how  happy  she  was, 
poor  Lorraine!  when  she  found  herself  in  a  bed,  with  her  babe 
beside  her  in  a  little  couch  which  I  had  bought  for  her.  Hel- 
mina and  I  nursed  her  until  she  was  able  to  get  about  again, 
and  then,  with  the  rest  of  my  money,  I  enabled  her  to  return 
to  her  washing-tubs." 

"  And  when  all  your  money  was  spent  on  Lorraine  and  her  in- 
fant, what  did  you  do,  my  child  ?  "  inquired  Rodolph. 

"  I  looked  out  for  work ;  but  it  was  too  late.  I  can  sew  very 
well,  I  have  good  courage,  and  thought  that  I  had  only  to  ask 
for  work  and  get  it.  Ah !  how  I  deceived  myself !  I  went  into 
a  shop  where  they  sell  ready-made  linen,  and  asked  for  employ- 
ment, and  as  I  would  not  tell  a  story,  I  said  I  had  just  left  prison. 
They  showed  me  the  door,  without  making  me  any  answer.  I 
begged  they  would  give  me  a  trial,  and  they  pushed  me  into  the 
street  as  if  I  had  been  a  thief.  Then  I  remembered,  too  late, 
what  Eigolette  had  told  me.  Little  by  little  I  sold  my  small 
stock  of  clothes  and  linen,  and  when  all  was  gone  they  turned 
me  out  of  my  lodging.  I  had  not  tasted  food  for  two  days; 
I  did  not  know  where  to  sleep.  At  this  moment  I  met  the  ogress 
and  one  of  her  old  women  who  knew  where  I  lodged,  and  was 
always  coming  about  me  since  I  left  the  prison.  They  told  me 
they  would  find  me  work,  and  I  believed  them.  I  went  with 
them,  so  exhausted  for  want  of  food  that  my  senses  were  gone. 
They  gave  me  brandy  to  drink,  and — and — here  I  am !  "  said  the 
unhappy  creature,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Have  you  lived  a  long  time  with  the  ogress,  my  poor  girl  ?  " 


spoke, 
now  as 

well  as  if  I  were  your  father  and  mother,  and  you  had  never  left 
my  lap.    Well,  well,  this  is  a  confession  indeed !  " 

"  It  makes  you  sad,  my  girl,  to  tell  the  story  of  your  life," 
said  Rodolph. 


26  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Alas !  sir,"  replied  Fleur-de-Marie,  sorrowfully,  "  since  I 
was  born  this  is  the  first  time  it  ever  happened  to  me  to  recall 
all  these  things  at  once,  and  my  tale  is  not  a  merry  one/' 

"  Well,"  said  the  Chourineur,  ironically,  "  you  are  sorry,  per- 
haps, that  you  are  not  a  kitchen-wench  in  a  cook-shop,  or  a  serv- 
ant to  some  old  brutes  who  think  of  no  one  but  themselves." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Fleur-de-Marie,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  to  be  quite 
happy,  we  must  be  quite  virtuous." 

"  Oh,  what  is  your  little  head  about  now  ? "  exclaimed  the 
Chourineur,  with  a  loud  burst  of  laughter.  "  Why  not  count 
your  rosary  in  honor  of  your  father  and  mother,  whom  you  never 
knew?" 

"  My  father  and  mother  abandoned  me  in  the  street  like  a 
puppy  that  is  one  too  many  in  the  house;  perhaps  they  had  not 
enough  to  feed  themselves,"  said  Goualeuse,  with  bitterness.  "  I 
want  nothing  of  them — I  complain  of  nothing — but  there  are 
lots  happier  than  mine." 

"  Yours !  why,  what  would  you  have  ?  You  are  as  handsome  as 
a  Venus,  and  yet  only  sixteen  and  a  half;  you  sing  like  a  night- 
ingale, behave  yourself  very  prettily,  are  called  Fleur-de-Marie, 
and  yet  you  complain !  What  will  you  say,  I  should  like  to  know, 
when  you  will  have  a  stove  under  your  paddlers,  and  a  chinchilla 
boa,  like  the  ogress  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  shall  never  be  so  old  as  she  is." 

"  Perhaps  you  have  a  charm  for  never  growing  any  older  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  could  not  lead  such  a  life.  I  have  already  a  bad 
cough." 

"  Ah,  I  see  you  already  in  the  '  cold-meat  box.'  Go  along, 
you  silly  child,  you !  " 

"  Do  you  often  have  such  thoughts  as  these,  Goualeuse  ?  "  said 
Rodolph. 

"  Sometimes.  You,  perhaps,  M.  Rodolph,  understand  me.  In 
the  morning,  when  I  go  to  buy  my  milk  from  the  milkwoman 
at  the  corner  of  Eue  de  la  Vieille-Draperie,  with  the  sous  which 
the  ogress  gives  me,  and  see  her  go  away  in  her  little  cart  drawn 
by  her  donkey,  I  do  envy  her  so,  and  I  say  to  myself,  '  She  is 
going  into  the  country,  to  the  pure  air,  to  her  home  and  her 
family ; '  and  then  I  return  alone  into  the  garret  of  the  ogress, 
where  you  cannot  see  plainly  even  at  noon-clay." 

"  Well,  child,  be  good — laugh  at  your  troubles — be  good,"  said 
the  Chourineur. 

"Good!  mon  Dieu!  and  how  do  you  mean  be  good?  The 
clothes  I  wear  belong  to  the  ogress,  and  I  am  in  debt  to  her  for 


THE  C'lIO  URINE  UK'S  HISTORY.  27 

my  board  and  lodging.  I  can't  stir  from  her ;  she  would  have  me 
taken  up  as  a  thief.  I  belong  to  her,  and  I  must  pay  her." 

When  she  had  uttered  these  last  words,  the  unhappy  girl 
could  not  help  shuddering,  and  a  tear  trembled  in  her  long  eye- 
lashes. 

"  Well,  but  remain  as  you  are,  and  do  not  compare  yourself 
to  a  country  milkwoman,"  said  the  Chourineur.  "  Are  you 
taking  leave  of  your  senses?  Only  think,  you  may  yet  cut  a 
figure  in  the  capital,  whilst  the  milkwoman  must  boil  the  pot 
for  her  brats,  milk  her  cows,  gather  grass  for  her  rabbits,  and, 
perhaps,  after  all,  get  a  black  eye  from  her  husband  when  he 
comes  home  from  the  pot-house.  Why,  it  is  really  ridiculous 
to  hear  you  talk  of  envying  her." 

The  Goualeuse  did  not  reply;  her  eye  was  fixed,  her  heart 
was  full,  and  the  expression  of  her  face  was  painfully  distressed. 
Rodolph  had  listened  to  the  recital,  made  with  so  painful  a 
frankness,  with  deep  interest.  Misery,  destitution,  ignorance  of 
the  world,  had  weighed  down  this  wretched  girl,  cast  at  sixteen 
years  of  age  on  the  wide  world  of  Paris! 

Rodolph  involuntarily  thought  of  a  beloved  child  whom  he 
had  lost — a  girl,  dead  at  six  years  of  age,  and  who,  had  she  sur- 
vived, would  have  been,  like  Fleur-de-Marie,  sixteen  years  and 
a  half  old.  This  recollection  excited  the  more  highly  his  solici- 
tude for  the  unhappy  creature  whose  narration  he  had  just 
heard. 


CHAPTER   IV. 
THE  CHOURINEUR'S  HISTORY. 

THE  reader  has  not  forgotten  the  two  guests  at  the  tapis-franc 
who  were  watched  so  closely  by  the  third  individual  who  had 
come  into  the  cabaret.  We  have  said  that  one  of  these  fellows, 
who  had  on  a  Greek  cap,  and  concealed  his  left  hand  with  much 
care,  asked  the  ogress  if  the  Schoolmaster  and  Gros-Boiteux 
had  not  arrived. 

During  the  story  of  the  Goualeuse,  which  they  could  not  over- 
hear, they  had  been  constantly  talking  in  a  very  low  tone,  throw- 
ing occasional  hurried  glances  at  the  door.  He  who  wore  the 
Greek  cap  said  to  his  comrade,  "The  Gros-Boiteux  does  not 
*  show,'  nor  the  Schoolmaster." 


28  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARTS. 

"  Perhaps  the  Skeleton  has  '  done  for  him,'  and  made  off 
with  the  '  swag.'  " 

"  A  precious  *  go '  that  would  be  for  us,  who  '  laid  the  plant,' 
and  look  out  for  our  '  smacks,' "  replied  the  other. 

The  newcomer,  who  observed  the  two  men,  was  seated  too 
far  off  to  hear  a  word  they  said,  but,  after  having  cautiously 
consulted  a  small  paper  concealed  at  the  bottom  of  his  cap,  he 
appeared  satisfied  with  his  remarks,  rose  from  the  table,  and 
said  to  the  ogress,  who  was  sleeping  at  the  bar,  with  her  feet  on 
the  stove,  and  her  great  cat  on  her  knees, — 

"  I  say,  Mother  Ponisse,  I  shall  soon  be  back  again ;  take  care 
of  my  pitcher  and  my  plate;  I  don't  want  any  one  to  make  free 
with  them." 

"  Make  yourself  easy,  my  fine  fellow,"  said  Mother  Ponisse ; 
"  if  your  plate  and  pitcher  are  empty,  no  one  will  touch  them." 

The  newcomer  laughed  loudly  at  the  joke  of  the  ogress,  and 
then  slipped  out,  so  that  his  departure  was  unnoticed.  At  the 
moment  when  this  man  retired,  and  before  the  door  could  be 
shut,  Eodolph  saw  the  charcoal-dealer,  whose  black  face  and  tall 
form  we  have  already  alluded  to,  and  he  had  just  time  to  mani- 
fest to  him,  by  an  impatient  gesture,  how  much  he  disliked  his 
watchful  attendance;  but  the  charcoal-man  did  not  appear  to 
heed  this  in  the  least,  and  still  kept  hanging  about  the  tapis- 
franc.  The  countenance  of  the  Goualeuse  became  still  more 
saddened;  with  her  back  to  the  wall,  her  head  drooping  on  her 
bosom,  her  full  blue  eyes  gazing  mechanically  about  her,  the  un- 
fortunate being  seemed  bowed  down  with  the  weight  of  her  op- 
pressive thoughts.  Two  or  three  times,  having  met  Eodolph's 
fixed  look,  she  turned  away,  unable  to  account  to  herself  for 
the  singular  impression  which  the  unknown  had  caused  her. 
Weighed  down  and  abashed  at  his  presence,  she  almost  regretted 
having  made  so  candid  a  narrative  to  him  of  her  unhappy  life. 
The  Chourineur,  on  the  contrary,  was  quite  in  high  spirits;  he 
had  devoured  the  whole  harlequin  without  the  least  assistance; 
the  wine  and  brandy  had  made  him  very  communicative;  the 
fact  of  his  having  found  his  master,  as  he  called  him,  had  been 
forgotten  in  the  generous  conduct  of  Rodolph ;  and  he  also  de- 
tected so  decided  a  physical  superiority,  that  his  humiliation  had 
given  way  to  a  sentiment  of  admiration,  mingled  with  fear  and 
respect.  This  absence  of  rancor,  and  the  savage  pride  with 
which  he  boasted  of  never  having  robbed,  proved  that  the  Chouri- 
neur was  not  as  yet  thoroughly  hardened.  This  had  not  escaped 
the  sagacity  of  Eodolph,  and  he  awaited  the  man's  recital  with 
curiosity. 


THE  CnOUPJNEUKS  HISTORY.  £9 

"  Now,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "  we  are  listening." 

The  Chourineur  emptied  his  glass,  and  thus  began: — 

"  You,  my  poor  girl,  were  at  last  taken  to  by  the  Chouette, 
whom  the  devil  confound !  You^  never  had  a  shelter  until  the 
moment  when  you  were  imprisoned  as  a  vagabond.  I  can  never 
recollect  having  slept  in  what  is  called  a  bed  before  I  was  nine- 
teen years  of  age, — a  happy  age ! — and  then  I  became  a  trooper." 

"  What,  you  have  served  then,  Chourineur  ?  "  said  Rodolph. 

"  Three  years ;  but  you'll  hear  all  about  it :  the  stones  of  the 
Louvre,  the  lime-kilns  of  Clichy,  and  the  quarries  of  Montrouge, 
these  were  the  hotels  of  my  youth.  Then  I  had  my  house  in 
Paris  and  in  the  country.  Who  but  I " 

"  And  what  was  your  trade  ?  " 

"  Faith,  master,  I  have  a  foggy  recollection  of  having  strolled 
about  in  my  childhood  with  an  old  rag-picker,  who  almost 
thumped  me  to  death:  and  it  must  be  true;  for  I  have  never 
since  met  one  of  these  old  Cupids,  with  a  wicker-work  quiver, 
without  a  longing  to  pitch  into  him, — a  proof  that  one  of  them 
must  have  thumped  me  when  I  was  a  child.  My  first  employ- 
ment was  to  help  the  knackers  to  cut  the  horses'  throats  at  Mont- 
faugon.  I  was  about  ten  or  twelve.  When  I  began  to  slash 
(chouriner)  these  poor  old  beasts,  it  had  quite  an  impression  on 
me.  At  the  month's  end  I  thought  no  more  about  it ;  on  the  con- 
trary, I  began  to  like  my  trade.  No  one  had  his  knife  so  sharp- 
ened and  keen-edged  as  mine;  and  that  made  me  rejoice  in 
using  it.  When  I  had  cut  the  animals'  throats,  they  gave  me  for 
my  trouble  a  piece  of  the  thigh  of  some  animal  that  had  died  of 
disease;  for  those  that  they  slaughter  are  sold  to  the  'cag- 
mag'  shops  near  the  School  of  Medicine,  who  convert  it  into 
beef,  mutton,  veal,  or  game,  according  to  the  taste  of  the  pur- 
chasers. However,  when  I  got  to  my  morsel  of  horse's  flesh,  I 
was  as  happy  as  a  king !  I  went  with  it  into  the  lime-kiln  like 
a  wolf  to  his  lair,  and  then,  with  the  leave  of  the  lime-burners, 
I  made  a  glorious  fry  on  the  ashes.  When  the  burners  were  not 
at  work,  I  picked  up  some  dry  wood  at  Eomainville,  set  light  to 
it,  and  broiled  my  steak  under  the  walls  of  the  bone-house.  The 
meat  certainly  was  bloody,  and  almost  raw,  but  that  made  a 
change." 

"And  your  name?  what  did  they  call  you?"  asked  Rodolph. 

"  I  had  hair  much  more  flaxen  than  now,  and  the  blood  was 
always  in  my  eyes,  and  so  they  called  me  the  'Albino/  The 
Albinos  are  the  white  rabbits  amongst  men ;  they  have  red  eyes," 
added  the  Chourineur,  in  a  grave  tone,  and,  as  it  were,  with  a 
physiological  parenthesis. 


30  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  And  your  relations  ?  your  family  ?  " 

"My  relations?  oh!  they  lodge  at  the  same  number  as  the 
Goualeuse's.  Place  of  my  birth? — why,  the  first  corner  of  no- 
matter-what  street,  either  on  the  right  or  left-hand  side  of  the 
way,  and  either  going  up  or  coming  down  the  kennel." 

"  Then  you  have  cursed  your  father  and  mother  for  having 
abandoned  you?" 

"  Why,  that  would  not  have  set  my  leg  if  I  had  broken  it ! 
No  matter;  though  it's  true  they  played  me  a  scurvy  trick  in 
bringing  me  into  the  world.  But  I  should  not  have  complained 
if  they  had  made  me  as  beggars  ought  to  be  made ;  that  is  to  say, 
without  the  sense  of  cold,  hunger,  or  thirst.  Beggars  who  don't 
like  thieving  would  find  it  greatly  to  their  advantage." 

"  You  were  cold,  thirsty,  hungry,  Chour incur,  and  yet  you 
did  not  steal?" 

"  No ;  and  yet  I  was  horribly  wretched.  It's  a  fact,  that  I 
have  often  gone  with  an  empty  bread-basket  (fasted)  for  two 
days  at  a  time :  that  was  more  than  my  share ;  but  I  never  stole." 

"  For  fear  of  a  jail  ?  " 

"  Pooh ! "  said  the  Chourineur,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and 
laughing  loudly,  "  I  should  then  not  have  stolen  bread,  for  fear 
of  getting  my  allowance,  eh?  An  honest  man,  I  was  famishing; 
a  thief,  I  should  have  been  supported  in  prison,  and  right  well, 
too !  But  I  did  not  steal,  because — because — why,  because  the 
idea  of  stealing  never  came  across  me ;  so  that's  all  about  it !  " 

This  reply,  noble  as  it  was  in  itself,  but  of  the  rectitude  of 
which  the  Chourineur  himself  had  no  idea,  perfectly  astonished 
Eodolph.  He  felt  that  the  poor  fellow  who  had  remained  honest 
in  the  midst  of  the  most  cruel  privations  was  to  be  respected 
twofold,  since  the  punishment  of  the  crime  became  a  certain 
resource  for  him.  Rodolph.  held  out  his  hand  to  this  ill-used 
savage  of  civilization,  whom  misery  had  been  unable  wholly  to 
corrupt.  The  Chourineur  looked  at  his  host  with  astonishment 
— almost  with  respect ;  he  hardly  dared  to  touch  the  hand  tend- 
ered to  him.  He  felt  impressed  with  some  vague  idea  that  there 
was  a  wide  abyss  between  Rodolph  and  himself. 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  Rodolph  to  him,  "  you  have  heart  and  honor." 

"Heart?  honor?  what,  I?  Come,  now,  don't  chaff  me,"  he 
replied,  with  surprise. 

"  To  suffer  misery  and  hunger  rather  than  steal,  is  to  have 
heart  and  honor,"  said  Rodolph,  gravely. 

"  Well,  it  may  be,"  said  the  Chourineur,  as  if  thinking,  "  it 
may  be  so." 

"Does  it  astonish  you?" 


THE  CHOURINEUR'S  HISTORY.  31 

"It  really  does;  for  people  don't  usually  say  such  things  to 
me;  they  generally  treat  me  as  they  would  a  mangy  dog.  It's 
odd,  though,  the  effect  what  you  say  has  on  me.  Heart !  honor !  " 
he  repeated,  with  an  air  which  was  actually  pensive. 

"Well,  what  ails  you?" 

"  I'faith,  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  Chourineur,  in  a  tone  of 
emotion;  "but  these  words,  do  you  see,  they  quite  make  my 
heart  beat;  and  I  feel  more  flattered  than  if  any  one  told  me 
I  was  a  'better  man'  than  either  the  Skeleton  or  the  School- 
master. I  never  felt  anything  like  it.  Be  sure,  though,  that 
these  words,  and  the  blows  of  the  fist  at  the  end  of  my  tussle, — 
you  did  lay  'em  on  like  a  good  'un, — not  alluding  to  what  you 
pay  for  the  supper,  and  the  words  you  have  said, — in  a  word," 
he  exclaimed  bluntly,  as  if  he  could  not  find  language  to  ex- 
press his  thoughts,  "make  sure  that  in  life  or  death  you  may 
depend  on  the  Chourinenr." 

Eodolph,  unwilling  to  betray  his  emotion,  replied  in  a  tone  as 
calm  as  he  could  assume,  "  How  long  did  you  go  on  as  an 
amateur  knacker  ?  " 

"  Why,  at  first,  I  was  quite  sick  of  cutting  up  old  worn-out 
horses,  who  could  not  even  kick;  but  when  I  was  about  sixteen, 
and  my  voice  began  to  get  rough,  it  became  a  passion — a  taste 
— a  relish — a  rage — with  me  to  cut  and  slash.  I  did  not  care 
for  anything  but  that;  not  even  eating  and  drinking.  You 
should  have  seen  me  in  the  middle  of  my  work !  Except  an  old 
pair  of  woolen  trousers,  I  was  quite  naked.  When,  with  my 
large  and  well-whetted  knife  in  my  hand,  I  had  about  me  fifteen 
or  twenty  horses  waiting  their  turn,  by  Jupiter!  when  I  began 
to  slaughter  them,  I  don't  know  what  possessed  me — I  was  like 
a  Fury.  My  ears  had  singing  in  them,  and  I  saw  everything 
red — all  was  red ;  and  I  slashed — and  slashed — and  slashed,  until 
my  knife  fell  from  my  hands !  Thunder !  what  happiness !  Had 
I  had  millions,  I  could  have  paid  them  to  have  enjoyed  my 
trade ! " 

"  It  is  that  which  has  given  you  the  habit  of  stabbing,"  said 
Eodolph. 

"  Very  likely ;  but  when  I  was  turned  of  sixteen,  the  passion 
became  so  strong,  that  when  I  once  began  slashing  I  became 
mad ;  I  spoiled  my  work ;  yes,  I  spoiled  the  skins ;  because  I 
slashed  and  cut  them  across  and  across;  for  I  was  so  furious 
that  I  could  not  see  clearly.  At  last  they  turned  me  out  of  the 
yard.  I  wanted  employment  with  the  butchers,  for  I  have  al- 
ways liked  that  sort  of  business.  Well,  they  quite  looked  down 
upon  me ;  they  despised  me  as  a  shoemaker  does  a  cobbler.  Then 


32  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

I  had  to  seek  my  bread  elsewhere,  and  I  didn't  find  it  very 
readily;  and  this  was  the  time  when  my  bread-basket  was  so 
often  empty.  At  length  I  got  employment  in  the  quarries  at 
Montrouge;  but,  at  the  end  of  two  years,  I  was  tired  of  going 
always  round  like  a  squirrel  in  his  cage,  and  drawing  stone  for 
twenty  sous  a-day.  I  was  tall  and  strong,  and  so  I  enlisted  in 
a  regiment.  They  asked  my  name,  my  age,  and  my  papers. 
My  name? — the  Albino.  My  age? — look  at  my  beard.  My 
papers? — here's  the  certificate  of  the  master-qua rryman.  As  I 
was  just  the  fellow  for  a  grenadier,  they  took  me/' 

"  With  your  strength,  courage,  and  taste  for  chopping  and 
slashing,  you  ought,  in  war-time,  to  have  been  made  an  officer." 

"  Thunder  and  lightning !  what  do  you  say  ?  What !  to  cut  up 
English  or  Prussians !  why,  that  would  have  been  better  than  to 
cut  up  old  horses ;  but,  worse  luck,  there  was  no  war,  but  a  great 
deal  of  discipline.  An  apprentice  tries  to  hit  his  master  a 
thump ;  well,  if  he  be  the  weaker,  why,  he  gets  the  worst  of  it ; 
if  he  be  the  stronger,  he  has  the  best  of  it;  he  is  turned  out  of 
doors,  perhaps  put  into  the  cage — and  that  is  all.  In  the  army 
it  is  quite  a  different  thing.  One  day  our  sergeant  had  bullied 
me  a  good  deal,  to  make  me  more  attentive, — he  was  right,  for 
1  was  very  slow ;  I  did  not  like  a  poke  he  gave  me,  and  I  kicked 
at  him — he  pushed  me  again,  I  returned  his  poke;  he  collared 
me,  and  I  gave  him  a  punch  of  the  head.  They  fell  on  me,  and 
then  my  blood  was  up  in  my  eyes,  and  I  was  enraged  in  a  mo- 
ment. I  had  my  knife  in  my  hand — I  belonged  to  the  cookery 
— and  I  '  went  it  my  hardest/  I  cut,  slashed — slashed,  chopped, 
as  if  I  was  in  the  slaughter-house.  I  made  '  cold  meat '  of  the 
sergeant,  wounded  two  soldiers — it  was  a  real  shambles :  I  gave 
the  three  eleven  wounds — yes,  eleven.  Blood  flowed,  flowed 
everywhere;  blood,  as  though  we  were  in  the  bone-house — I 
swam  in  it " 

The  brigand  lowered  his  head  with  a  somber,  sullen  air,  and 
was  silent. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Chourineur  ? "  asked  Eodolph, 
with  interest. 

"  Nothing,"  he  replied,  abruptly ;  and  then,  with  an  air  of 
brutish  carelessness,  he  added,  "  At  length  they  handcuffed  me, 
and  brought  me  before  the  *  big  wigs/  and  I  was  cast  for  death." 

"  You  escaped,  however  ?  " 

"  True ;  but  I  had  fifteen  years  at  the  galleys  instead  of  being 
e  scragged/  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  whilst  in  the  regiment  I 
had  saved  two  of  my  comrades  from  drowning  in  the  Marne, 
when  we  were  quartered  at  Milan.  At  another  time, — you  will 


THE  cuo  UPJNE  uiya  msTon  r.  33 

laugh,  and  say  T  am  amphibious  either  in  fire  or  water  when 
saving  men  or  women, — at  another  time,  being  in  garrison  at 
Eouen,  all  the  wooden  houses  in  one  quarter  were  on  fire,  and 
burning  like  so  many  matches.  I  am  the  lad  for  a  fire,  and 
so  I  went  to  the  place  in  an  instant.  They  told  me  that  there 
was  an  old  woman  who  was  bed-ridden,  and  could  not  escape 
from  her  room,  which  was  already  in  flames.  I  went  towards  it, 
and,  by  Jove !  how  it  did  burn !  it  reminded  me  of  the  lime- 
kilns in  my  happy  days.  However,  I  saved  the  old  woman,  al- 
though I  had  the  very  soles  of  my  feet  scorched.  Thanks  to  my 
having  done  these  things,  and  the  cunning  of  my  advocate,  my 
sentence  was  changed,  and,  instead  of  being  *  scragged,'  I  was 
only  sent  to  the  hulks  for  fifteen  years.  When  I  found  that  my 
life  would  be  spared,  and  I  was  to  go  to  the  galleys,  I  would 
have  jumped  upon  the  babbling  fool,  and  twisted  his  neck,  at 
the  moment  when  he  came  to  wish  me  joy,  and  to  tell  me  he  had 
saved  my  life,  and  be  hanged  to  him !  only  they  prevented  me." 
"  Were  you  sorry,  then,  to  have  your  sentence  commuted  ?  " 
"  Yes ;  for  those  who  sport  with  the  knife,  the  headsman's  steel 
is  the  proper  fate ;  for  those  who  steal,  the  '  darbies '  to  their 
heels; — each  his  proper  punishment.  But  to  force  you  to  live 
amongst  galley-slaves,  when  you  have  a  right  to  be  guillotined 
out  of  hand,  is  infamous;  and,  besides,  my  life,  when  I  first 
went  to  the  Bagne,  was  rather  queer:  one  don't  kill  a  man,  and 
soon  forget  it,  you  must  know." 

"You  feel  some  remorse,  then,  Chourineur?" 
"  Remorse  ?  no ;  for  I  have  served  my  time,"  said  the  savage ; 
"  but  at  first,  a  night  did  not  pass  but  I  saw — like  a  nightmare — 
the  sergeant  and  soldiers  whom  I  had  slashed  and  slaughtered; 
that  is,  they  were  not  alone,"  added  the  brigand,  in  a  voice  of 
terror :  "  these  were  in  tens,  and  dozens,  and  hundreds,  and 
thousands,  each  waiting  his  turn,  in  a  kind  of  slaughter-house, 
like  the  horses  whose  throats  I  used  to  cut  at  Montfaugon,  await- 
ing each  his  turn.  Then,  then,  I  saw  red,  and  began  to  cut  and 
slash  away  on  these  men  as  I  used  formerly  to  do  on  the  horses. 
The  more,  however,  I  chopped  down  the  soldiers,  the  faster  the 
ranks  filled  up  with  others ;  and  as  they  died,  they  looked  at  one 
with  an  air  so  gentle — so  gentle,  that  I  cursed  myself  for  killing 
'em :  but  I  couldn't  help  it.  That  was  not  all.  I  never  had  a 
brother ;  and  yet  it  seemed  as  if  every  one  of  those  whom  I  killed 
was  my  brother,  and  I  loved  all  of  them.  At  last,  when  I  could 
bear  it  no  longer,  I  used  to  wake  covered  all  over  with  sweat, 
as  cold  as  melting  snow." 

"  That  was  a  horrid  dream,  Chourineur !  " 


3i  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARTS. 

"  It  was ;  yes.  That  dream,  do  you  see,  was  enough  to  drive 
one  mad  or  foolish;  so,  twice,  I  tried  to  kill  myself:  once  by 
swallowing  verdigris,  and  another  time  by  trying  to  choke  my- 
self with  my  chain;  but,  confound  it,  I  am  as  strong  as  a  bull. 
The  verdigris  only  made  me  thirsty;  and  as  for  the  twist  of  the 
chain  round  my  neck,  why,  that  only  gave  me  a  natural  cravat 
of  a  blue  color.  Afterwards,  the  desire  of  life  came  back  to  me, 
my  nightmare  ceased  to  torment  me,  and  I  did  as  others  did." 

"  At  the  Bagne,  you  were  in  a  good  school  for  learning  how  to 
thieve?" 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  not  to  my  taste.  The  other  '  prigs  '  bullied 
me;  but  I  soon  silenced  them  with  a  few  thumps  of  my  chain. 
It  was  in  this  way  I  first  knew  the  Schoolmaster;  and  I  must 
pay  him  the  compliment  due  to  his  blows, — he  paid  me  off  as 
you  did  some  little  time  ago." 

"  He  is,  then,  a  criminal  who  has  served  his  time  ?  " 

"  He  was  sentenced  for  life,  but  escaped." 

"  Escaped,  and  not  denounced  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  the  man  to  denounce  him.  Besides,  it  would  seem 
as  if  I  were  afraid  of  him." 

"  But  how  is  it  that  the  police  do  not  detect  him  ?  Have  they 
not  got  his  description  ?  " 

"  His  description  ?  Oh !  yes,  yes ;  but  it  is  long  since  he  has 
scraped  out  from  his  phiz  what  Nature  had  placed  there:  now, 
none  but  the  '  baker  who  puts  the  condemned  in  his  oven '  (the 
devil)  could  recognize  him  (the  Schoolmaster)." 

"  What  has  he  done  to  himself  ?  " 

"  He  began  by  destroying  his  nose,  which  was  an  ell  long :  he 
ate  it  off  with  vitriol." 

"  You  jest." 

"  If  he  comes  in  this  evening,  you'll  see.  He  had  a  nose  like  a 
parrot,  and  now  it  is  as  flat  as  in  a  death's  head ;  to  say  nothing 
of  his  lips,  which  are  as  thick  as  your  fist,  and  his  face,  which  is 
as  wrinkled  as  the  waistcoat  of  a  rag-picker." 

"  And  so  he  is  not  recognized  ?  " 

"It  is  six  months  since  he  escaped  from  Rochefort,  and  the 
'  traps '  have  met  him  a  hundred  times  without  knowing  him." 

"Why  was  he  at  the  Bagne?" 

"  For  having  been  a  forger,  thief,  and  assassin.  He  is  called 
the  Schoolmaster  because  he  wrote  a  splendid  hand,  and  has  had 
a  good  education." 

"  And  is  he  much  feared  ?  " 

"  He  will  not  be  any  longer,  when  you  have  given  him  such  a 
licking  as  you  gave  me.  Oh !  by  Jove,  I  am  anxious  to  see  it ! " 


WE  CUOUUINEUK8  HISTORY.  35 

"  What  does  he  do  for  a  living?  " 

"  He  is  associated  with  an  old  woman  as  bad  as  himself,  and  as 
deep  as  the  '  old  one ; '  but  she  is  never  seen,  though  he  has  told 
the  ogress  that  some  day  or  other  he  would  bring  his  '  mot ' 
(woman)  with  him." 

"  And  this  woman  helps  him  in  his  robberies  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  in  his  murders  too.  They  say  he  brags  of  having 
already,  with  her  assistance,  *  done  for '  two  or  three  persons ; 
and,  amongst  others,  three  weeks  ago,  a  cattle-dealer  on  the  road 
to  Poissy,  whom  they  also  robbed/' 

"  He  will  be  taken  sooner  or  later." 

"  They  must  be  very  cunning,  as  well  as  powerful,  to  do  that, 
for  he  always  has  under  his  blouse  a  brace  of  loaded  pistols  and 
a  dagger.  He  says  that  chariot  (the  executioner)  waits  for  him, 
and  he  can  only  lose  his  head  once,  and  so  he  will  kill  all  he  can 
kill  to  try  and  escape.  Oh  !  he  makes  no  mystery  of  it ;  and  as  he 
is  twice  as  strong  as  you  and  I,  they  will  have  a  tough  job  who 
take  him/' 

"  What  did  you  do,  Chourineur,  when  you  left  the  Bagne  ?  " 

"  I  offered  myself  to  the  master-lighterman  of  the  Quai  St.- 
Paul,  and  I  get  my  livelihood  there." 

"  But  as  you  have  never  been  a  '  prig/  why  do  you  live  in  the 
Cite?" 

"  Why,  where  else  can  I  live  ?  Who  likes  to  be  seen  with  a 
discharged  criminal?  I  should  be  tired  of  always  being  alone, 
for  I  like  company,  and  here  I  am  with  my  equals.  I  have  a 
bit  of  a  row  sometimes,  and  they  fear  me  like  fire  in  the  Cite; 
but  the  police  have  nothing  to  say  to  me,  except  now  and  then  for 
a  *  shindy,'  for  which  they  give  me,  perhaps,  twenty-four  hours 
at  the  watch-house,  and  there's  an  end  of  that/' 

"  What  do  you  earn  a  day  ?  " 

"  Thirty-five  sous  for  taking  in  the  river  foot-baths,  up  to  the 
stomach  from  twelve  to  fifteen  hours  a  day,  summer  and  winter; 
but  let  me  be  just,  and  tell  truth ;  so  if,  through  having  my  toes 
in  the  water,  I  get  the  grenouille,*  I  am  allowed  to  break  my 
arms  in  breaking  up  old  vessels,  and  unloading  timber  on  my 
back.  I  begin  as  a  beast  of  burden,  and  end  like  a  fish's  tail. 
When  I  lose  my  strength  entirely,  I  shall  take  a  rake  and  a 
wicker-basket,  like  the  old  rag-picker  whom  I  see  in  the  recollec- 
tions of  my  childhood." 

"  And  yet  you  are  not  unhappy." 

"  There  are  worse  than  I  am ;  and  without  my  dreams  of  the 
sergeant  and  soldiers  with  their  throats  cut — for  I  have  the 

*  A  disease  of  the  skin  to  which  all  who  work  in  the  water  are  liable. 


36  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

dream  still  sometimes — I  could  quietly  wait  for  the  moment 
when  I  should  drop  down  dead  at  the  corner  of  some  dunghill, 
like  that  at  which  I  was  born;  but  the  dream — the  dream — by 
heaven  and  earth!  I  don't  like  even  to  think  of  that,"  said  the 
Chourineur,  and  he  emptied  his  pipe  at  a  corner  of  the  table. 

The  Goualeuse  had  hardly  listened  to  the  Chourineur;  she 
seemed  wholly  absorbed  in  a  deep  and  melancholy  reverie. 
Eodolph  himself  was  pensive.  A  tragic  incident  occurred,  which 
brought  these  three  personages  to  a  recollection  of  the  spot  in 
which  they  were. 


CHAPTEK  V. 

THE  ARREST. 

THE  man  who  had  gone  out  for  a  moment,  after  having  re- 
quested the  ogress  to  look  after  his  jug  and  plate,  soon  returned, 
accompanied  by  a  tall,  brawny  man,  to  whom  he  said,  "  It  was 
a  chance  to  meet  in  this  way,  old  fellow !  Come  in,  and  let  us 
have  a  glass  together." 

The  Chourineur  said,  in  a  low  voice,  to  Eodolph  and  the  Goua- 
leuse, pointing  to  the  newcomer,  "  We  shall  have  a  row ;  he's 
a  'trap.'  Look  out  for  squalls." 

The  two  ruffians,  one  of  whom,  with  the  Greek  skull-cap  pulled 
over  his  brows,  had  inquired  several  times  for  the  Schoolmaster 
and  the  Gros-Boiteux,  exchanged  rapid  glances  of  the  eye,  and, 
rising  suddenly  from  the  table,  went  towards  the  door;  but  the 
two  police-officers,  uttering  a  peculiar  note,  seized  them.  A  fierce 
struggle  ensued.  The  door  of  the  tavern  opened,  and  all  the 
policemen  dashed  into  the  room,  whilst,  outside,  were  seen  the 
muskets  of  the  gens-d'armes.  Taking  advantage  of  the  tumult, 
the  charcoal-seller,  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  advanced  to  the 
threshold  of  the  tapis-franc,  and,  meeting  the  eye  of  Eodolph, 
he  put  to  his  lips  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand.  Eodolph, 
with  a  gesture  as  rapid  as  it  was  imperious,  desired  him  to  go, 
and  then  turned  his  attention  to  the  scene  before  him.  The 
man  with  the  Greek  skull-cap  shrieked  with  rage,  and,  half  ex- 
tended on  a  table,  struggled  so  desperately,  that  three  men  could 
scarcely  hold  him.  His  companion,  enfeebled,  dejected,  with 
livid  aspect,  and  pale  lips,  his  lower  jaw  fallen,  and  shaking  con- 
vulsively, made  no  resistance,  but  held  out  his  hands  to  be  en- 
clasped by  the  handcuffs.  The  ogress,  seated  at  her  bar,  and  used 


THE  ARREST.  37 

to  such  scenes,  remained  motionless,  with  her  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  her  apron. 

"What  have  these  fellows  done,  my  dear  Monsieur  Narcisse 
Borel  ?  "  inquired  she  of  one  of  the  policemen  whom  she  knew. 

"Killed  an  old  woman  yesterday  in  the  Rue  St.-Christophe, 
and  robbed  her  chamber.  Before  she  died,  the  poor  old  thing 
said  that  she  had  bitten  one  of  her  murderers  in  the  hand.  We 
had  our  eyes  on  these  two  scoundrels;  and  my  comrade,  having 
come  to  make  sure  of  his  men,  why,  we  have  made  free  to  take 
them." 

"  How  lucky  they  paid  me  beforehand  for  their  pint ! "  said  the 
ogress.  "  Won't  you  take  a  drain  o'  nothin'  short,  M.  Narcisse  ? 
Just  a  '  go '  of  '  Eatifi'  of  the  Column/  " 

"  Thanks,  Mother  Ponisse,  but  I  must  make  sure  of  my  game ; 
one  fellow  shows  fight  still." 

The  assassin  in  the  Greek  cap  was  furious  with  rage,  and  when 
they  tried  to  get  him  into  a  hackney-coach  which  was  waiting 
in  the  street,  he  resisted  so  stoutly  that  they  were  obliged  to 
carry  him.  His  accomplice,  seized  with  a  nervous  tremor,  could 
hardly  support  himself,  and  his  blue  lips  trembled  as  though  he 
were  speaking.  They  threw  him,  helpless  and  unresisting,  into 
the  vehicle.  Before  he  left  the  tapis-franc,  the  head  officer 
looked  attentively  at  the  other  guests  assembled,  and  said  to 
the  Chourineur,  in  a  tone  almost  kind, — 

"  What,  you  here,  you  bad  lot  ?  Why,  it  is  a  long  time  since 
we  heard  anything  of  you.  What,  no  more  rows?  Are  you 
growing  steady  ?  " 

"  Steady  as  a  stone  figure.  Why,  you  know  that  now  I  never 
break  a  head,  even  if  I  am  begged  to  do  so ! " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  that  would  cost  you  much  trouble,  strong 
as  you  are." 

"  Yet  here  is  my  master,"  said  the  Chourineur,  laying  his 
hand  on  Rodolph's  shoulder. 

"  Stay,  I  do  not  know  him,"  said  the  agent  de  police,  looking 
steadfastly  at  Rodolph. 

"And  I  do  not  think  we  shall  form  an  acquaintance  now," 
replied  he. 

"  I  hope  not,  for  your  sake,  my  fine  fellow,"  said  the  agent ; 
then  turning  to  the  ogress,  "  Good  night,  Mother  Ponisse ;  your 
tapis-franc  is  a  regular  mouse-trap;  this  is  the  third  assassin  I 
have  taken  here." 

"  I  hope  it  won't  be  the  last,  Monsieur  Narcisse ;  it  is  quite  at 
your  service,"  said  the  ogress,  making  a  very  insinuating  nod 
with  her  head. 


38  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

After  the  departure  of  the  police,  the  young  vagabond  with 
the  haggard  visage,  who  was  smoking  and  drinking  brandy, 
refilled  his  pipe,  and  said  in  a  hoarse  voice  to  the  Chouri- 
neur, — 

"  Didn't  you  twig  the  cove  in  the  Greek  cap  ? — he's  Boulotte's 
man.  When  I  saw  the  traps  walk  in,  I  says  to  myself,  says  I, 
there's  something  up;  and  then,  too,  I  saw  him  keep  his  hand 
always  under  the  table." 

"It's  lucky  for  the  Schoolmaster  and  the  Gros-Boiteux  that 
they  were  not  here,"  said  the  ogress ;  "  Greek  cap  asked  twice  for 
him,  and  said  they  had  business  together;  but  I  never  turn 
'nose'  (informer) 'on  any  customer.  If  they  take  them,  very 
well — everyone  to  his  trade;  but  I  never  sell  my  friends.  Oh, 
talk  of  the  old  gentleman,  and  you  see  his  horns,"  added  the  hag, 
as  at  the  moment  a  man  and  woman  entered  the  cabaret ;  "  here 
they  are — the  Schoolmaster  and  his  companion.  Well,  he  was 
right  not  to  show  her,  for  I  never  see  such  an  ugly  creetur  in  my 
born  days.  She  ought  to  be  very  much  obliged  to  him  for 
having  taken  up  with  such  a  face." 

At  the  name  of  the  Schoolmaster  a  sort  of  shudder  seemed  to 
circulate  amongst  the  guests  of  the  tapis-franc.  Kodolph,  him- 
self, in  spite  of  his  natural  intrepidity,  could  not  wholly  subdue 
a  slight  emotion  at  the  sight  of  this  redoubtable  ruffian,  whom 
he  contemplated  for  some  seconds  with  a  mixed  feeling  of 
curiosity  and  horror.  The  Chourineur  had  spoken  truth  when 
he  said  that  the  Schoolmaster  was  frightfully  mutilated.  Noth- 
ing can  be  imagined  more  horrible  than  the  countenance  of  this 
man.  His  face  was  furrowed  in  all  directions  with  deep,  livid 
cicatrices;  the  corrosive  action  of  the  vitriol  had  puffed  out  his 
lips;  the  cartilages  of  his  nose  were  divided,  and  two  misshapen 
holes  supplied  the  loss  of  nostrils.  His  gray  eyes  were  bright, 
small,  circular,  and  sparkled  savagely;  his  forehead,  as  flat  as  a 
tiger's,  was  half  hidden  beneath  a  fur  cap,  with  long  yellow  hair, 
looking  like  the  crest  of  a  monster. 

The  Schoolmaster  was  not  more  than  five  feet  four  or  five ;  his 
head,  which  was  disproportionately  large,  was  buried  between 
two  shoulders,  broad,  powerful,  and  fleshy,  displaying  themselves 
even  under  the  loose  folds  of  his  coarse  cotton  blouse;  he  had 
long  muscular  arms,  hands  short,  thick,  and  hairy  to  the  very 
fingers'  end,  with  legs  somewhat  bowed,  whose  enormous  calves 
betokened  his  vast  strength.  This  man  presented,  in  fact,  the 
exaggeration  of  what  there  is  of  short,  thickset,  and  condensed, 
in  the  type  of  the  Hercules  Farnese.  As  to  the  expression  of 
ferocity  which  suffused  this  hideous  mask,  and  the  restless,  wild, 


THE  ARREST.  39 

and  glaring  look,  more  like  a  wild  beast  than  a  human  being,  it 
is  impossible  to  describe  them. 

The  woman  who  accompanied  the  Schoolmaster  was  old,  and 
rather  neatly  dressed  in  a  brown  gown,  with  a  plaid  shawl,  of 
red  and  black  check,  and  a  white  bonnet.  Rodolph  saw  her 
profile,  and  her  green  eye,  hooked  nose,  skinny  lips,  peaked  chin, 
and  countenance  at  once  wicked  and  cunning,  reminded  him 
involuntarily  of  La  Chouette,  that  horrible  old  wretch  who  had 
made  poor  Fleur-de-Marie  her  victim.  He  was  just  on  the  point 
of  saying  this  to  the  girl,  when  he  saw  her  suddenly  turn  pale 
with  fright,  whilst  looking  at  the  hideous  companion  of  the 
Schoolmaster,  and  seizing  the  arm  of  Eodolph  with  a  trembling 
hand,  the  Goualeuse  said,  in  a  low  voice, — 

"Oh,  the  Chouette!  the  Chouette !— the  one-eyed  woman!" 

At  this  moment  the  Schoolmaster,  after  having  exchanged  a 
few  words  in  an  undertone  with  Barbillon,  came  slowly  towards 
the  table  where  Rodolph,  the  Goualeuse,  and  the  Chourineur, 
were  sitting,  and  addressing  himself  to  Fleur-de-Marie,  in  a 
hoarse  voice,  said, — 

"  Ah,  my  pretty,  fair  miss,  you  must  quit  these  two  muffs,  and 
come  with  me." 

The  Goualeuse  made  no  reply,  but  clung  to  Rodolph,  her  teeth 
chattering  with  fright. 

"  And  I  shall  not  be  jealous  of  my  man,  my  little  fourline  " 
(a  pet  word  for  assassin),  added  the  Chouette,  laughing  loudly. 
She  had  not  yet  recognized  in  Goualeuse  *  Pegriotte/  her  old 
victim. 

"  Well,  my  little  white  face,  dost  hear  me  ?  "  said  the  monster, 
advancing.  "  If  thou  dost  not  come,  I'll  poke  your  eye  out,  and 
make  you  a  match  for  the  Chouette.  And  thou  with  the  mus- 
tache," he  said  to  Rodolph,  "  if  thou  dost  not  stand  from  between 
me  and  the  wench,  I'll  crack  thy  crown." 

"Defend  me!  oh,  defend  me!"  cried  Fleur-de-Marie  to 
Rodolph,  clasping  her  hands.  Then,  reflecting  that  she  was 
about  to  expose  him  to  great  danger,  she  added,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  Xo,  no,  do  not  move,  Mister  Rodolph ;  if  he  comes  nearer,  I 
will  cry  out  for  help,  and  for  fear  of  the  disturbance,  which  may 
call  in'the  police,  the  ogress  will  take  my  part." 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  child,"  said  Rodolph,  looking  calmly 
at  the  Schoolmaster ;  "  you  are  beside  me — don't  stir ;  and  as  this 
ill-looking  scoundrel  makes  you  as  well  as  myself  feel  uncom- 
fortable, I  will  kick  him  out." 

"Thou?"  said  the  Schoolmaster. 

"I!"  said  Rodolph.     And,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  the 


40  THE  MYSTERIES  Of  PARIS. 

Goualeuse,  he  rose  from  the  table.  Despite  his  hardihood,  the 
Schoolmaster  retreated  a  step,  so  threatening  were  the  looks,  so 
eommanding  the  deportment,  of  Rodolph.  There  are  peculiar 
glances  of  the  eye  which  are  irresistible,  and  certain  celebrated 
duelists  are  said  to  owe  their  bloody  triumphs  to  this  fascinating 
glance,  which  unmans,  paralyzes,  and  destroys  their  adversaries. 
The  Schoolmaster  trembled,  retreated  a  step,  and,  for  once,  dis- 
trustful of  his  giant  strength,  felt  under  his  blouse  for  his  long 
cut-and-thrust  knife.  A  murder  would  have  stained  the  tapis- 
franc,  no  doubt,  if  the  Chouette,  taking  the  Schoolmaster  by  the 
arm,  had  not  screamed  out, — 

"  A  minute,  a  minute,  fourline — let  me  say  a  word !  you  shall 
walk  into  these  two  muffs  all  the  same,  presently." 

The  Schoolmaster  looked  at  her  with  astonishment.  For  some 
minutes  she  had  been  looking  at  Fleur-de-Marie  with  fixed  and 
increasing  attention,  as  if  trying  to  refresh  her  memory.  At 
length  no  doubt  remained,  and  she  recognized  the  Goualeuse. 

"  Is  it  possible  ? "  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands  in  astonish- 
ment. "  It  is  Pegriotte,  who  stole  my  barley-sugar.  But  where 
do  you  come  from  ?  Is  it  the  devil  who  sends  you  back  ?  "  and 
she  shook  her  clenched  hand  at  the  young  girl.  "  You  won't 
come  into  my  clutch  again,  eh?  But  be  easy;  if  I  do  not  pull 
out  your  teeth,  I  will  have  out  of  your  eyes  every  tear  in  your 
body.  Come,  no  airs  and  graces.  You  don't  know  what  I  mean. 
Why,  I  have  found  out  the  people  who  had  the  care  of  you  before 
you  were  handed  over  to  me.  The  Schoolmaster  saw  at  the  Pre 
(the  galleys)  the  man  who  brought  you  to  my  crib  when  you 
were  a  brat,  and  he  has  proofs  that  the  people  who  had  you  first 
were  ' gentry  coves'"  (rich  people). 

"  My  parents !  do  you  know  them  ?  "  cried  Fleur-de-Marie. 

"  Never  mind  whether  I  know  them  or  not,  you  shall  know 
nothing  about  it.  The  secret  is  mine  and  my  fourline's,  and  I 
will  tear  out  his  tongue  rather  than  he  shall  blab  it.  What !  it 
makes  you  snivel,  does  it,  Pegriotte  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Goualeuse,  with  a  bitterness  of  accent ;  "  now 
I  do  not  care  ever  to  know  my  parents." 

Whilst  La  Chouette  was  speaking,  the  Schoolmaster  had 
resumed  his  assurance,  for,  looking  at  Rodolph,  he  could  not 
believe  that  a  young  man  of  slight  and  graceful  make  could  for 
a  moment  cope  with  him,  and,  confident  in  his  brutal  force,  he 
approached  the  defender  of  Goualeuse,  and  said  to  the  Chouette, 
in  an  imperious  voice, — 

"  Hold  your  jaw !  I'll  tackle  with  this  swell,  and  then  the  fair 
lady  may  think  me  more  to  her  fancy  than  he  is." 


THE  ARREST.  41 

With  one  bound  Rodolph  leaped  on  the  table. 

"  Take  care  of  my  plates !  "  shouted  the  ogress. 

The  Schoolmaster  stood  on  his  guard,  his  two  hands  in  front, 
his  chest  advanced,  firmly  planted  on  his  legs,  and  arched,  as  it 
were,  on  his  brawny  legs,  which  were  like  balusters  of  stone.  At 
the  moment  when  Rodolph  was  springing  at  him,  the  door  of 
the  tapis-franc  opened  with  violence,  and  the  charcoal-man,  of 
whom  we  have  before  spoken,  and  who  was  upwards  of  six  feet 
high,  dashed  into  the  apartment,  pushed  the  Schoolmaster  on 
one  side  rudely,  and  coming  up  to  Rodolph,  said,  in  German,  in 
his  ear, — 

"  Monseigneur,  the  countess  and  her  brother — they  are  at  the 
end  of  the  street." 

At  these  words  Rodolph  made  an  impatient  and  angry  gesture, 
threw  a  louis  d'or  on  the  bar  of  the  ogress,  and  made  for  the 
door  in  haste.  The  Schoolmaster  attempted  to  arrest  Rodolph's 
progress,  but  he,  turning  to  him,  gave  him  two  or  three  rapid 
blows  with  his  fists  over  the  nose  and  eyes,  and  with  such  potent 
effect,  that  the  beast  staggered  with  very  giddiness,  and  fell 
heavily  against  a  table,  which  alone  prevented  his  prostration  on 
the  floor. 

"  Vive  la  Charte!  those  are  my  blows— I  know  them,"  cried 
the  Chourineur;  "two  or  three  more  lessons  like  that,  and  I 
shall  know  all  about  it." 

Restored  to  himself  after  a  few  moments,  the  Schoolmaster 
darted  off  in  pursuit  of  Rodolph,  but  he  had  disappeared  with 
the  charcoal-man  in  the  dark  labyrinth  of  the  streets  of  the 
Cite,  and  the  brigand  found  it  useless  to  follow. 

At  the  moment  when  the  Schoolmaster  had  returned,  foam- 
ing with  rage,  two  persons,  approaching  from  the  opposite  side 
to  that  by  which  Rodolph  had  disappeared,  entered  into  the 
tapis-franc,  hastily,  and  out  of  breath,  as  if  they  had  been  run- 
ning far  and  fast.  Their  first  impulse  was  to  look  round  the 
room. 

"  How  unfortunate !  "  said  one  of  them ;  "  he  has  gone, — 
another  opportunity  lost." 

The  two  newcomers  spoke  in  English.  The  Goualeuse, 
horror-struck  at  meeting  with  the  Chouette,  and  dreading  the 
threats  of  the  Schoolmaster,  took  advantage  of  the  tumult  and 
confusion  caused  by  the  arrival  of  the  two  fresh  guests  in  the 
tains-franc,  and,  quietly  gliding  out  by  the  half-opened  door, 
left  the  cabaret. 


42  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

CHAPTEE  VI. 

THOMAS  SEYTON  AND  THE  COUNTESS  SARAH. 

THE  two  persons  who  had  just  entered  the  tapis-franc  were 
quite  of  another  class  from  those  who  ordinarily  frequented  it. 
One,  tall  and  erect,  had  hair  almost  white,  black  eyebrows  and 
whiskers,  a  long  and  tanned  face,  with  a  stiff,  formal  air.  His 
long  frock-coat  was  buttoned  up  to  the  throat,  d  la  militaire. 
We  shall  call  this  individual  Thomas  Seyton.  His  companion 
was  young,  pale,  and  handsome,  and  appeared  about  thirty-one 
or  two  years  of  age.  His  hair,  eyebrows,  and  eyes,  were  of  a 
deep  black,  which  showed  off  the  more  fully  the  pure  whiteness 
of  his  face.  By  his  step,  the  smallness  of  his  stature,  and  the 
delicacy  of  his  features,  it  was  easy  to  detect  a  woman  in  male 
habiliments.  This  female  was  the  Countess  Sarah  Macgregor. 
We  will  hereafter  inform  our  readers  of  the  motives  and  events 
which  had  brought  the  countess  and  her  brother  into  this  cabaret 
of  the  Cite. 

"  Call  for  something  to  drink,  Thomas,  and  ask  the  people 
here  about  him;  perhaps  they  may  give  us  some  information," 
said  Sarah,  still  speaking  English. 

The  man  with  white  hair  and  black  eyebrows  sat  down  at  a 
table,  whilst  Sarah  was  wiping  her  forehead,  and  said  to  the 
ogress,  in  excellent  French,  "  Madame,  let  us  have  something  to 
drink,  if  you  please." 

The  entrance  of  these  two  persons  into  the  tapis-franc  had 
excited  universal  attention.  Their  dress,  their  manners,  all 
announced  that  they  never  frequented  low  drinking-shops,  whilst, 
by  their  restless  looks  and  disturbed  countenances,  it  might  be 
judged  that  some  very  powerful  motives  had  led  them  hither. 
The  Chourineur,  the  Schoolmaster,  and  the  Chouette,  viewed 
them  with  increasing  curiosity. 

Startled  by  the  appearance  of  such  strange  customers,  the 
ogress  shared  in  the  general  surprise.  Thomas  Seyton,  a  second 
time,  and  with  an  impatient  tone,  said,  "  We  have  called  for 
something  to  drink,  ma'am,  pray  let  us  have  it." 

Mother  Ponisse,  flattered  by  their  courtesy  of  manner,  left  her 
bar,  and,  coming  towards  her  new  guests,  leaned  her  arms  on 
their  table,  and  said,  "  Will  you  have  a  pint  of  wine  in  measure 
or  a  bottle?" 

"  A  bottle  of  wine,  glasses,  and  some  water." 


THOMAS  SEYTON  AND  THE  COUNTESS  SARAH.         43 

The  ogress  brought  the  supplies  demanded,  and  Thomas  Sey- 
ton  threw  her  a  five-franc  piece,  and  refused  the  change  which 
she  offered  to  him. 

"  Keep  it,  my  good  woman,  for  yourself ;  and  perhaps  you 
will  take  a  glass  with  us  ?  " 

"  You're  uncommon  purlite,  sir,"  looking  at  the  countess's 
brother  with  as  much  surprise  as  gratitude. 

"  But  tell  me,  now,"  said  he,  "  we  had  appointed  to  meet  a 
friend  in  a  cabaret  in  this  street,  and  have,  perhaps,  mistaken 
the  house  in  coming  here." 

"  This  is  the  '  White  Rabbit ' ;  at  your  service,  sir." 

"  That's  right  enough,  then,"  said  Thomas,  making  a  sign  to 
Sarah ;  "  yes,  it  was  at  the  (  White  Rabbit '  that  he  was  to  give 
us  the  meeting." 

"  There  are  not  two  '  White  Rabbits '  in  this  street,"  said  the 
ogress,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  But  what  sort  of  a  person  was 
your  friend  ?  " 

"  Tall,  slim,  and  with  hair  and  mustaches  of  light  chestnut," 
said  Seyton. 

"  Exactly,  exactly ;  that's  the  man  who  has  just  gone  out.  A 
charcoal-man,  very  tall  and  stout,  came  in  and  said  a  few  words 
to  him,  and  they  left  together." 

"  The  very  man  we  want  to  meet,"  said  Tom. 

"  Were  they  alone  here  ?  "  inquired  Sarah. 

"  Why,  the  charcoal-man  only  came  in  for  one  moment ;  but 
your  comrade  supped  here  with  the  Chourineur  and  Goualeuse ;  " 
and,  with  a  nod  of  her  head,  the  ogress  pointed  out  the  individual 
of  the  party  who  was  left  still  in  the  cabaret. 

Thomas  and  Sarah  turned  towards  the  Chourineur.  After 
contemplating  him  for  a  few  minutes,  Sarah  said,  in  English, 
to  her  companion,  "  Do  you  know  this  man?  " 

"  No ;  Karl  lost  all  trace  of  Rodolph  at  the  entrance  of  these 
obscure  streets.  Seeing  Murphy  disguised  as  a  charcoal-seller, 
keeping  watch  about  this  cabaret,  and  constantly  peeping  through 
the  windows,  he  was  afraid  that  something  wrong  was  going 
on,  and  so  came  to  warn  us.  Murphy,  no  doubt,  recognized 
him." 

During  this  conversation,  held  in  a  very  low  tone,  and  in  a 
foreign  tongue,  the  Schoolmaster  said  to  the  Chouette,  looking 
at  Tom  and  Sarah,  "The  swell  has  shelled  out  a  lull  to  the 
ogress.  It  is  just  twelve,  rains  and  blows  like  the  devil.  When 
they  leave  the  crib  we  will  be  on  their  lay,  and  draw  the  flat  of 
his  blunt.  As  his  mot  is  with  him,  he'll  hold  his  jaw." 

If  Tom  and  Sarah  had  heard  this  foul  language,  they  would 


44  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARTS. 

not  have  understood  it,  and  would  not  have  detected  the  plot 
against  them. 

"Be  quiet,  fourline"  answered  the  Chouette;  "if  the  cull 
sings  out  for  the  traps,  I  have  my  vitriol  in  my  pocket,  and  will 
break  the  phial  in  his  patter-box.  Nothing  like  a  drink  to  keep 
children  from  crying,"  she  added.  "Tell  me,  darling,  sha'n't 
we  lay  hands  on  Pegriotte  the  first  time  we  meet  with  her? 
And  only  let  me  once  get  her  to  our  place,  and  I'll  rub  her  chops 
with  my  vitriol,  and  then  my  lady  will  no  longer  be  proud  of 
her  fine  skin." 

"  Well  said,  Chouette ;  I  shall  make  you  my  wife  some  day 
or  other,"  said  the  Schoolmaster ;  "  yoti  have  no  equal  for  skill 
and  courage.  On  that  night  with  the  cattle-dealer,  I  had  an 
opportunity  of  judging  of  you;  and  I  said,  '  Here's  the  wife  for 
me,  she  works  better  than  a  man.' " 

"  And  you  said  right,  fourline;  if  the  Skeleton  had  had  a 
woman  like  me  at  his  elbow,  he  would  not  have  been  nabbed  with 
his  gulley  in  the  dead  man's  weasand." 

"  He's  done  up,  and  now  he  will  not  leave  the  stone  jug, 
except  to  kiss  the  headsman's  daughter,  and  be  a  head  shorter." 

"  What  strange  language  these  people  talk ! "  said  Sarah,  who 
had  involuntarily  heard  the  last  few  words  of  the  conversation 
between  the  Schoolmaster  and  the  Chouette.  Then  she  added, 
pointing  to  the  Chourineur,  "  If  we  ask  this  man  some  questions 
about  Eodolph,  perhaps  he  may  be  able  to  answer  them." 

"  We  can  but  try,"  replied  Thomas,  who  said  to  the  Chouri- 
neur, "  Comrade,  we  expected  to  find  in  this  cabaret  a  friend  of 
ours;  he  supped  with  you,  I  find.  Perhaps,  as  you  know  him, 
you  will  tell  us  which  way  he  has  gone?  " 

"  I  know  him,  because  he  gave  me  a  precious  good  hiding  two 
hours  ago,  to  prevent  me  from  beating  Goualeuse." 

"  And  have  you  never  seen  him  before  ?  " 

"  Never ;  we  met  by  chance  in  the  alley  which  leads  to  Bras 
Eouge's  house." 

"  Hostess,  another  bottle  of  the  best,"  said  Thomas  Seyton. 

Sarah  and  he  had  hardly  moistened  their  lips,  and  their  glasses 
were  still  full;  but  Mother  Ponisse,  doubtless  anxious  to  pay 
proper  respect  to  her  own  cellar,  had  frequently  filled  and 
emptied  hers. 

"  And  put  it  on  the  table  where  that  gentleman  sits,  if  he  will 
permit,"  added  Thomas,  who,  with  Sarah,  seated  themselves 
beside  the  Chourineur,  who  was  as  much  astonished  as  flattered 
by  such  politeness. 

The  Schoolmaster  and  the  Chouette  were  talking  over  their 


THOMAS  8EYTON  AND  THE  COUNTESS  SARAH.         45 

own  dark  plans  in  low  tones  and  flash  language.  The  bottle 
being  brought,  and  Sarah  and  her  brother  seated  with  the 
Chourineur  and  the  ogress,  who  had  considered  a  second  invita- 
tion as  superfluous,  the  conversation  was  resumed. 

"You  told  us,  my  good  fellow,  that  you  met  our  comrade 
Rodolph  in  the  house  where  Bras  Rouge  lives?"  inquired 
Thomas  Seyton  as  he  hob  and  nobbed  with  the  Chourineur. 

"  Yes,  my  good  fellow/'  replied  he,  as  he  emptied  his  glass  at 
a  gulp. 

"  What  a  singular  name  is  Bras  Rouge !  What  is  this  Bras 
Rouge?" 

"II  pastique  la  maltouze"  (smuggles),  said  the  Chourineur, 
in  a  careless  tone,  and  then  added,  "  This  is  jolly  good  wine, 
Mother  Ponisse ! " 

"  If  you  think  so,  do  not  spare  it,  my  fine  fellow,"  said  Seyton, 
and  he  filled  the  Chourineur^s  glass  as  he  spoke. 

"  Your  health,  mate,"  said  he,  "  and  the  health  of  your  little 
friend,  who — but  mum.  '  If  my  aunt  was  a  man,  she'd  be  my 
uncle,'  as  the  proverb  says.  Ah  !  you  sly  rogue,  I'm  up  to  you  ?  " 

Sarah  colored  slightly  as  her  brother  continued,  "  I  did  not 
quite  understand  what  you  meant  about  Bras  Rouge.  Rodolph 
came  from  his  house,  no  doubt  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  that  Bras  Rouge  pastique  la  maltouze." 

Thomas  regarded  the  Chourineur  with  an  air  of  surprise. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  pastique  la  mal What  do  you 

call  it?" 

"  Pastiquer  la  maltouze.  He  smuggles,  I  suppose  you  would 
call  it ;  but  it  seems  you  can't  patter  flash  ?  " 

"  My  fine  fellow,  I  don't  understand  one  word  you  say." 

"  I  see  you  can't  talk  slang  like  M.  Rodolph." 

"Slang?"  said  Thomas  Seyton,  looking  at  Sarah  with  an 
astonished  air. 

"  Ah !  you  are  yokels;  but  comrade  Rodolph  is  an  out-and-out 
pal,  he  is.  Though  only  a  fan-painter,  yet  he  is  as  downy  in 
flash  as  I  am  myself.  Well,  since  you  can't  speak  this  very 'fine 
language,  I  tell  you,  in  plain  French,  that  Bra's  Rouge  is  a 
smuggler,  and,  besides  that,  has  a  small  tavern  in  the  Champs 
Elysees.  I  say,  without  breaking  faith,  that  he  is  a  smuggler, 
for  he  makes  no  secret  of  it,  but  owns  it  under  the  very  nose  of 
the  custom-house  officers.  Find  him  out,  though,  if  you  can; 
Bras  Rouge  is  a  deep  one." 

"  What  could  Rodolph  want  at  the  house  of  this  man  ?  "  asked 
Sarah. 

"Really,  sir,  or  madam,  which  you  please,  I  know  nothing 


46  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

about  anything,  as  true  as  I  drink  this  glass  of  wine.  I  was 
chaffing  to-night  with  the  Goualeuse,  who  thought  I  was  going 
to  beat  her,  and  she  ran  up  Bras  Rouge's  alley,  and  I  after  her : 
it  was  as  dark  as  the  devil.  Instead  of  hitting  Goualeuse,  how- 
ever, I  stumbled  on  Master  Eodolph,  who  soon  gave  me  better 
than  I  sent.  Such  thumps !  and  especially  those  infernal  thwacks 
with  his  fist  at  last.  My  eyes !  how  hot  and  heavy  they  did  fall ! 
But  he's  promised  to  teach  me,  and  to " 

"And  Bras  Eouge,  what  sort  of  a  person  is  he?"  asked  Tom. 
"  What  goods  does  he  sell  ?  " 

"  Bras  Rouge  ?  oh,  by  the  Holy !  he  sells  everything  he  is  for- 
bidden to  sell,  and  does  everything  which  it  is  forbidden  to  do. 
That's  his  line,  ain't  it,  Mother  Ponisse  ?  " 

"  Oh !  he's  a  boy  with  more  than  one  string  to  his  bow," 
answered  the  ogress.  "  He  is,  besides,  principal  occupier  of  a 
certain  house  in  the  Rue  du  Temple, — a  rum  sort  of  a  house,  to 
be  sure ;  but  mum,"  added  she,  fearing  to  have  revealed  too  much. 

"And  what  is  the  address  of  Bras  Rouge  in  that  street?" 
asked  Seyton  of  the  Chourineur. 

"  No.  13,  sir." 

"  Perhaps  we  may  learn  something  there,"  said  Seyton,  in  a 
low  voice,  to  his  sister.  "  I  will  send  Karl  thither  to-morrow." 

"  As  you  know  M.  Rodolph,"  said  the  Chourineur,  "  you  may 
boast  the  acquaintance  of  a  stout  friend  and  a  good  fellow.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  the  charcoal-man,  he  would  have  doubled  up 
the  Schoolmaster,  who  is  there  in  the  corner  with  the  Chouette. 
By  the  Lord !  I  can  hardly  contain  myself,  when  I  see  that  old 

hag,  and  know  how  she  behaved  to  the  Goualeuse But 

patience,  a  blow  delayed  is  not  a  blow  lost,  as  the  saying  is." 

The  Hotel  de  Ville  clock  struck  midnight;  the  lamp  of  the 
tavern  only  shed  a  dim  and  flickering  light.  Except  the  Chouri- 
neur and  his  two  companions,  the  Schoolmaster  and  the 
"  Screech-owl,"  all  the  guests  of  the  tapis-franc  had  retired  one 
after  the  other. 

The  Schoolmaster  said,  in  an  undertone,  to  the  Chouette,  "  If 
we  go  and  hide  in  the  alley  opposite,  we  shall  see  the  swells  come 
out,  and  know  which  road  they  take.  If  they  turn  to  the  left, 
we  can  double  upon  them  at  the  turning  of  the  Rue  St.-Eloi ;  if 
to  the  right,  we  will  wait  for  them  by  the  ruins  close  to  the  tripe- 
market.  There's  a  large  hole  close  by,  and  I  have  a  capital  idea." 

The  Schoolmaster  and  the  Chouette  then  went  towards  the 
door. 

"  You  won't,  then,  take  a  drain  of  nothin'  to-night  ?  "  said  the 


"  TOUR  MONEY  OR  YOUR  LIFK"  tf 

"  No,  Mother  Ponisse,  we  only  came  in  to  take  shelter  from 
the  rain,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  as  he  and  the  Chouette  went 
out. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"YOUR   MONEY   OR  YOUR  LIFE." 

THE  noise  which  was  made  by  the  shutting  of  the  door  aroused 
Tom  and  Sarah  from  their  reverie,  and  they  rose,  and,  having 
thanked  the  Chourineur  for  the  information  he  had  given  them, 
the  fellow  went  out,  the  wind  blowing  very  strongly,  and  the 
rain  falling  in  torrents.  The  Schoolmaster  and  the  Chouette, 
hidden  in  an  alley  opposite  the  tapis-franc,  saw  the  Chourineur 
go  down  the  street,  in  the  direction  of  the  street  in  which  the 
house  in  ruins  was  situated.  His  steps,  which  were  somewhat 
irregular,  in  consequence  of  the  frequent  libations  of  the  even- 
ing, were  soon  unheard  amidst  the  whistling  of  the  storm  and 
the  sheets  of  rain  which  dashed  against  the  walls.  Sarah  and 
Tom  left  the  tavern  in  spite  of  the  tempest,  and  took  a  contrary 
direction  to  the  Chourineur. 

"  They're  done  for,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  in  a  low  key,  to 
the  Chouette;  "out  with  your  vitriol,  and  mind  your  eye!" 

"  Let  us  take  off  our  shoes,  and  then  they  won't  hear  us  as 
we  follow,"  suggested  the  Chouette. 

"  You  are  right — always  right ;  let  us  tread  like  cats,  my  old 
darling." 

The  two  monsters  took  off  their  shoes,  and  moved  stealthily 
along,  keeping  in  the  shadows  of  the  houses.  By  means  of  this 
stratagem  they  followed  so  closely,  that,  although  within  a  few 
steps  of  Sarah  and  Tom,  they  did  not  hear  them. 

"  Fortunately  our  hackney-coach  is  at  the  end  of  the  street ; 
the  rain  falls  in  torrents.  Are  you  not  cold,  Sarah  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  gleam  something  from  this  smuggler — this 
Bras  Eouge,"  said  Sarah,  in  a  thoughtful  tone,  and  not  replying 
to  her  brother's  inquiry. 

He  suddenly  stopped,  and  said,  "  I  have  taken  a  wrong  turn- 
ing ;  I  ought  to  have  gone  to  the  right  when  I  left  the  tavern ; 
we  must  pass  by  a  house  in  ruins  to  reach  the  fiacre.  We  must 
turn  back." 

The  Schoolmaster  and  the  Chouette,  who  followed  on  the 
heels  of  their  intended  victims,  retreated  into  the  dark  porch  of 
a  house  close  at  hand,  so  that  they  might  not  be  perceived  by 


48  TUB  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

Tom  and  Sarah,  who,  in  passing,  almost  touched  them  with  their 
elbows. 

"  I  am  glad  they  have  gone  that  way,"  said  the  Schoolmaster, 
"  for,  if  the  cove  resists,  I  have  my  own  idea." 

Sarah  and  her  brother,  having  again  passed  by  the  tapis-franc, 
arrived  close  to  the  dilapidated  house,  which  was  partly  in  ruins, 
and  its  opened  cellars  formed  a  kind  of  gulf,  along  which  the 
street  ran  in  that  direction.  In  an  instant,  the  Schoolmaster, 
with  a  leap  resembling  in  strength  and  agility  the  spring  of  a 
tiger,  seized  Seyton  with  one  hand  by  the  throat,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Your  money,  or  I  will  fling  you  into  this  hole !  " 

Then  the  brigand,  pushing  Seyton  backwards,  shoved  him  off 
his  balance,  and  with  one  hand  held  him  suspended  over  the 
mouth  of  the  deep  excavation;  whilst,  with  his  other  hand,  he 
grasped  the  arm  of  Sarah,  as  if  in  a  vice.  Before  Tom  could 
make  the  slightest  struggle,  the  Chouette  had  emptied  his  pockets 
with  singular  dexterity.  Sarah  did  not  utter  a  cry,  nor  try  to 
resist :  she  only  said,  in  a  calm  tone,  "  Give  up  your  purse, 
brother ; "  and  then  accosting  the  robber,  "  We  will  make  no 
noise,  do  not  do  us  any  injury." 

The  Chouette,  having  carefully  searched  the  pockets  of  the 
two  victims  of  this  ambush,  said  to  Sarah,  "  Let's  see  your  hands, 
if  you've  got  any  rings.  No,"  said  the  old  brute,  grumblingly, 
"  no,  not  one  ring.  What  a  shame !  " 

Tom  Seyton  did  not  lose  his  presence  of  mind  during  this 
scene,  rapidly  and  unexpectedly  as  it  had  occurred. 

"  Will  you  strike  a  bargain  ?  My  pocket-book  contains  papers 
quite  useless  to  you ;  return  it  to  me,  and  to-morrow  I  will  give 
you  twenty-five  louis  d'or,"  said  Tom  to  the  Schoolmaster,  whose 
hand  relaxed  something  of  its  fierce  grip. 

"  Oh !  ah !  to  lay  a  trap  to  catch  us,"  replied  the  thief.  "  Be 
off,  without  looking  behind  you,  and  be  thankful  that  you  have 
escaped  so  well." 

"  One  moment,"  said  the  Chouette ;  "  if  he  behaves  well,  he 
shall  have  his  pocket-book.  There  is  a  way."  Then,  addressing 
Thomas  Seyton,  "  You  know  the  Plain  of  St.-Denis  ?  " 

"I  do." 

"  Do  you  know  where  St.-Ouen  is  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Opposite  St.-Ouen,  at  the  end  of  the  road  of  La  Revolte,  the 
plain  is  wide  and  open.  Across  the  fields,  one  may  see  a  long 
way.  Come  there  to-morrow,  quite  alone,  with  your  money  in 
your  hand ;  you  will  find  me  and  the  pocket-book  ready.  Hand 
me  the  cash,  and  I  will  hand  you  the  pocket-book." 


"  TOUR  MONEY  OR  TOUR  LIFE."  49 

"  But  he'll  trap  you,  Chouette." 

"  Oh,  no,  he  won't ;  I'm  up  to  him  or  any  of  his  dodges.  We 
can  see  a  long  way  off.  I  have  only  one  eye,  but  that  is  a  piercer ; 
and,  if  the  cove  comes  with  a  companion,  he  won't  find  anybody ; 
I  shall  have  mizzled." 

A  sudden  idea  seemed  to  strike  Sarah,  and  she  said  to  the 
brigand,  "  Would  you  like  to  gain  some  money  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  see,  in  the  cabaret  we  have  just  left — for  I  know  you 
again — the  man  whom  the  charcoal-man  came  to  seek  ?  " 

"  A  dandy  with  mustaches  ?  Yes,  I  would  have  stuck  it  into 
the  fellow,  but  he  did  not  give  me  time.  He  stunned  me  with 
two  blows  of  his  fists,  and  upset  me  on  the  table — for  the  first 
time  that  any  man  ever  did  so.  Curses  on  him !  but  I  will  be 
revenged." 

"  He  is  the  man  I  mean,"  said  Sarah. 

"  He  ?  "  cried  the  Schoolmaster ;  "  a  thousand  francs,  and  I'll 
kill  him." 

"  Wretch !  I  do  not  seek  his  life,"  replied  Sarah  to  the  School- 
master. 

"What,  then,  would  you  have?" 

"  Come  to-morrow  to  the  Plain  of  St.-Denis ;  you  will  there 
find  my  companion,"  she  replied ;  "  you  will  see  that  he  is  alone, 
and  he  will  tell  you  what  to  do.  I  will  not  give  you  one  thou- 
sand, but  two  thousand,  francs,  if  you  succeed." 

"  Fourline,"  said  the  Chouette,  in  a  low  tone,  to  the  School- 
master, "  there's  blunt  to  be  had ;  these  are  a  swell  lot,  who  want 
to  be  revenged  on  an  enemy,  and  that  enemy  is  the  beggar  that 
you  wish  to  floor.  Let's  go  and  meet  him.  I  would  go,  if  I 
were  you.  Fire  and  smoke!  old  boy,  it  will  pay  for  looking 
after." 

"Well,  my  wife  shall  be  there,"  said  the  Schoolmaster;  "you 
will  tell  her  what  you  want,  and  I  shall  see " 

"  Be  it  so ;  to-morrow  at  one." 

"  At  one  o'clock. 

"  In  the  Plain  of  St.-Denis?  " 

"  In  the  Plain  of  St.-Denis." 

"  Between  St.-Ouen  and  the  road  of  La  Eevolte,  at  the  end 
of  the  road  ?  " 

"  Agreed." 

"  I  will  bring  your  pocket-book." 

"  And  you  shall  have  the  five  hundred  francs  I  promised  you, 
and  we  will  agree  in  the  other  matter,  if  you  are  reasonable." 


50  TRti  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Now,  you  go  to  the  right,  and  we  to  the  left  hand.  Do  not 
follow  us,  or  else ': 

The  Schoolmaster  and  the  Chouette  hurried  off,  whilst  Tom 
and  the  Countess  went  in  the  other  direction,  towards  Notre 
Dame. 

A  concealed  witness  had  been  present  at  this  transaction;  it 
was  the  Chourineur,  who  had  entered  the  cellars  of  the  house 
to  get  shelter  from  the  rain.  The  proposal  which  Sarah  made 
to  the  brigand  respecting  Kodolph  deeply  interested  the  Chouri- 
neur, who,  alarmed  for  the  perils  which  appeared  about  to  beset 
his  new  friend,  regretted  that  he  could  not  warn  him  of  them. 
Perhaps  his  detestation  of  the  Schoolmas'ter  and  the  Chouette 
might  have  something  to  do  with  this  feeling. 

The  Chourineur  resolved  to  inform  Rodolph  of  the  danger 
which  threatened  him;  but  how?  He  had  forgotten  the  address 
of  the  self-styled  fan-painter.  Perhaps  Eodolph  would  never 
again  come  to  the  iapis-franc,  and  then  how  could  he  warn  him? 
Whilst  he  was  conning  all  this  over  in  his  mind,  the  Chourineur 
had  mechanically  followed  Tom  and  Sarah,  and  saw  them  get 
into  a  coach,  which  awaited  them  near  Notre  Dame. 

The  fiacre  started.  The  Chourineur  got  up  behind,  and  at 
one  o'clock  it  stopped  on  the  Boulevard  de  1'Observatoire,  and 
Thomas  and  Sarah  went  down  a  narrow  entrance,  which  was 
close  at  hand.  The  night  was  pitch  dark,  and  the  Chourineur, 
that  he  might  know  the  next  day  the  place  where  he  then  was, 
drew  from  his  pocket  his  clasp-knife,  and  cut  a  deep  notch  in 
one  of  the  trees  at  the  corner  of  the  entrance,  and  then  returned 
to  his  resting-place,  which  was  at  a  considerable  distance. 

For  the  first  time  for  a  very  long  while,  the  Chourineur  en- 
joyed in  his  den  a  comfortable  sleep,  which  was  not  once  inter- 
rupted by  the  horrible  vision  of  the  "  Sergeant's  slaughter- 
house" as,  in  his  coarse  language,  he  styled  it. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  WALK. 

ON  the  day  after  the  evening  on  which  the  various  events  we 
have  described  had  passed,  a  bright  autumnal  sun  shone  from  a 
pure  sky;  the  darkness  of  the  night  had  wholly  disappeared. 
Although  always  shaded  by  the  height  of  the  houses,  the  dis- 
reputable neighborhood  into  which  the  reader  has  followed  us 
seemed  less  horrible  when  viewed  in  the  light  of  open  day. 


THE  WALK. 


51 


Whether  Rodolph  no  longer  feared  meeting  with  the  two  per- 
sons whom  he  had  evaded  the  over-night,  or  did  not  care  whether 
he  faced  them  or  not,  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  he 
entered  the  Hue  aux  Feves,  and  directed  his  steps  toward  the 
tavern  of  the  ogress. 

Rodolph  was  still  in  a  workman's  dress;  but  there  was  a 
decided  neatness  in  his  costume.  His  new  blouse,  open  on  his 
chest,  showed  a  red  woolen  shirt,  closed  by  several  silver  buttons ; 
whilst  the  collar  of  another  shirt,  of  white  cotton,  fell  over  a 
black  silk  cravat,  loosely  tied  round  his  neck.  From  under  his 
sky-blue  velvet  cap,  with  a  bright  leather  peak,  several  locks  of 
chestnut  hair  were  seen;  and  his  boots,  cleaned  very  brightly, 
and  replacing  the  heavy  iron  shoes  of  the  previous  evening, 
showed  off  to  advantage  a  well-formed  foot,  which  seemed  all 
the  smaller  from  appearing  out  of  a  loose  pantaloon  of  olive 
velveteen.  The  costume  was  well  calculated  to  display  the  ele- 
gant shape  and  carriage  of  Rodolph,  which  combined  so  much 
grace,  suppleness,  and  power.  The  ogress  was  airing  herself  at 
her  door  when  Rodolph  presented  himself. 

"  Your  servant,  young  man ;  you  have  come,  no  doubt,  for 
your  change  of  the  twenty  francs/'  she  said,  with  some  show  of 
respect,  not  venturing  to  forget  that  the  conqueror  of  the  Chouri- 
neur  had  handed  her  a  louis  d'or  the  previous  evening.  "  There 
is  seventeen  francs  ten  sous  coming  to  you;  but  that's  not  all. 
There  was  somebody  here  asking  after  you  last  night, — a  tall 
gent,  well  dressed,  and  with  him  a  young  woman  in  men's 
clothes.  They  drank  my  best  wine  along  with  the  Chourineur." 

"  Oh !  with  the  Chourineur,  did  they  ?  And  what  could  they 
have  to  say  to  him?" 

"  When  I  say  they  drank,  I  make  a  mistake ;  they  only  just 
Dipped  a  drain  or  so,  and " 

"  But  what  did  they  say  to  the  Chourineur?  " 

"  Oh !  they  talked  of  all  manner  of  things — of  Bras  Rouge, 
and  the  rain,  and  fine  weather." 

"  Do  they  know  Bras  Rouge  ?  " 

"  Not  by  no  means :  the  Chourineur  told  'em  all  about  him, 
and  as  how  as  you " 

"  Well,  well,  that  is  not  what  I  want  to  know." 

"  You  want  your  change." 

"  Yes,  and  I  want  to  take  Goualeuse  to  pass  the  day  in  the 
country." 

"  Oh  !  that's  impossible." 

"Why?" 

"  Why  ?  because  she  may  never  come  back  again.    Her  things 


52  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

belongs  to  me,  not  including  as  she  owes  me  a  matter  of  ninety 
francs  as  a  balance  for  her  board  and  lodging,  for  the  six  weeks 
as  she  has  lodged  with  me ;  and,  if  I  didn't  know  her  to  be  as 
honest  a  girl  as  is,  I  should  never  let  her  go  out  of  sight/' 

"  Goualeuse  owes  you  ninety  francs  ?  " 

"  Ninety  francs  ten  sous ;  but  what's  that  to  you,  my  lad  ? 
Are  you  a-going  to  come  '  my  lord,'  and  pay  it  for  her  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Eodolph,  throwing  five  louis  on  the  ogress's  bar; 
"  and  what's  your  price  for  the  clothes  she  wears  ?  " 

The  old  hag,  amazed,  looked  at  the  louis  one  after  the  other, 
with  an  air  of  much  doubt  and  mistrust. 

"  What !  do  you  think  I  have  given  you  bad  money  ?  Send 
and  get  change  for  one  of  them;  but  make  haste  about  it.  I 
say,  again,  how  much  for  the  garments  the  poor  girl  is 
wearing  ?  " 

The  ogress,  divided  between  her  desire  to  make  a  good  harvest, 
her  surprise  to  see  a  workman  with  so  much  money,  the  fear  of 
being  cheated,  and  the  hopes  of  still  greater  gain,  was  silent  for 
an  instant,  and  then  replied,  "  Oh,  them  things  is  well  worth  a 
hundred  francs." 

"  What !  those  rags  ?  Come,  now,  you  shall  keep  the  change 
from  yesterday,  and  I'll  give  you  another  louis,  and  no  more. 
If  I  give  you  all  I  have,  I  shall  cheat  the  poor,  who  ought  to  get 
some  alms  out  of  me." 

"  Well,  then,  my  fine  fellow,  I'll  keep  my  things,  and  Goua- 
leuse sha'n't  go  out.  I  have  a  right  to  sell  my  things  for  what 
I  choose." 

<e  May  Lucifer  one  day  fry  you  as  you  deserve !  Here's  your 
money;  go  and  look  for  Goualeuse." 

The  ogress  pocketed  the  gold,  thinking  that  the  workman  had 
committed  a  robbery,  or  received  a  legacy,  and  then  said,  with  a 
nasty  leer,  "  Well,  indeed !  why  not  go  upstairs,  and  find  Goua- 
leuse yourself?  she'll  be  very  glad  to  see  you,  for,  on  my  life, 
she  was  much  smitten  with  you  yesterday." 

"  Do  you  go  and  fetch  her,  and  tell  her  I  will  take  her  into 
the  country ;  that's  all  you  need  say ;  not  a  word  about  my  having 
paid  you  her  debt." 

"Why  not?" 

"What's  that  to  you?" 

"  Oh  !  nothing ;  it's  no  matter  to  me ;  I  would  rather  that  she 
still  believed  herself  in  my  clutch " 

"Will, you  hold  your  tongue,  and  do  as  I  bid  you?" 

"  Oh !  what  a  cross  creetur  you  are !    I  pity  anybody  who  is 


THE  WALK.  53 

tinder  you.  Well,  I'm  going,  I'm  going;"  and  the  ogress  went 
upstairs. 

After  a  few  minutes  she  came  down  again. 

"  Goualeuse  would  not  believe  me,  and  really  turned  quite 
crimson  when  she  knew  you  were  here;  and,  when  I  told  her 
that  I  would  give  her  leave  to  pass  the  day  in  the  country,  I 
thought  she  would  have  gone  crazy, — for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  was  inclined  to  throw  her  arms  about  my  neck." 

"  That  was  her  delight  at  leaving  you." 

Fleur-de-Marie  entered  at  this  moment,  dressed  as  she  was  the 
over-night,  with  her  gown  of  brown  stuff,  her  little  orange  shawl 
tied  behind  her,  and  her  handkerchief  of  red  checks  over  her 
head,  leaving  only  two  thick  bands  of  light  hair  visible.  She 
blushed  when  she  saw  Eodolph,  and  looked  down  with  a  confused 
air. 

"  Would  you  like  to  pass  the  day  in  the  country  with  me,  my 
lass  ?  "  asked  Rodolph. 

"Very  much,  indeed,  Monsieur  Eodolph,"  said  Goualeuse, 
"  since  madame  gives  me  leave." 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  may  go,  my  little  duck,  because  you're  sitch  a 
good  gal.  Come  and  kiss  me  afore  you  go." 

And  the  old  beldam  offered  her  bloated  lips  to  Fleur-de-Marie. 
The  poor  girl,  overcoming  her  disgust,  bent  her  forehead  to  the 
ogress,  but  Eodolph,  giving  a  sudden  push  with  his  elbow,  shoved 
the  hag  back  on  her  seat,  took  Fleur-de-Marie's  arm,  and 
left  the  tapis-franc,  amidst  the  loud  maledictions  of  Mother 
Ponisse. 

"  Mind,  M.  Eodolph/5  said  Goualeuse ;  "  the  ogress  will,  per- 
haps, throw  something  at  you — she  is  very  spiteful." 

"  Oh,  don't  heed  her,  my  girl.  But  what's  the  matter  with 
you  ?  you  seem  embarrassed,  sad.  Are  you  sorry  for  having  come 
out  with  me?" 

"  Oh,  dear,  no ;  but — but — you  give  me  your  arm !  " 

"Well,  and  what  of  that?" 

"  You  are  a  workman,  and  someone  may  tell  your  master  that 
they  met  you  with  me,  and  harm  may  come  of  it ;  masters  do  not 
like  their  workmen  to  be  unsteady."  And  Goualeuse  gently 
removed  her  arm  from  that  of  Eodolph,  adding,  "  Go  on  by 
yourself;  I  will  follow  you  to  the  barrier;  when  we  are  once  in 
the  fields,  I  can  walk  with  you." 

"  Do  not  be  uneasy,"  said  Eodolph,  touched  by  the  poor  girl's 
consideration,  and  taking  her  arm  again ;  "  my  master  does  not 
live  in  this  quarter,  and  we  shall  find  a  coach  on  the  Quai  aux 
Fleurs." 


54  ,          THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  As  you  please,  M.  Eodolph ;  I  only  said  so  that  you  might 
not  get  into  trouble." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,  and  thank  you  very  much.  But  tell  me, 
is  it  all  the  same  to  you  what  part  of  the  country  we  go  into  ?  " 

"  Yes,  quite  so,  M.  Eodolph,  so  that  it  be  the  country.  It  is 
so  fine  and  it  is  so  nice  to  breathe  the  open  air!  Do  you  know, 
that  I  have  not  been  farther  than  the  flower-market  for  these  six 
weeks?  And  now,  if  the  ogress  allows  me  to  leave  the  Cite,  she 
must  have  great  confidence  in  me." 

"  And,  when  you  came  here,  was  it  to  buy  flowers  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  had  no  money ;  I  only  came  to  look  at  them,  and 
breathe  their  beautiful  smell.  During  the  half -hour  which  the 
ogress  allowed  me  to  pass  on  the  quay  on  market-days,  I  was  so 
happy  that  I  forgot  everything  else/' 

"  And  on  returning  to  the  ogress,  and  those  filthy  streets  ?  " 

"  Oh,  why,  then  I  returned  more  sad  than  when  I  set  out;  but 
I  wiped  my  eyes,  that  I  might  not  be  beaten  for  crying.  Yet,  at 
the  market,  what  made  me  envious, — oh !  so  envious, — was  to  see 
neat,  clean,  little  workwomen,  who  were  going  away  so  gaily 
with  a  beautiful  pot  of  flowers  in  their  hands." 

"  I  am  sure  that,  if  you  had  had  but  a  few  flowers  in  your  own 
window,  they  would  have  kept  you  company." 

"  What  you  say  is  quite  true,  M.  Eodolph.  Only  imagine,  one 
day,  on  her  birthday,  the  ogress,  knowing  my  taste,  gave  me  a 
little  rose-tree.  If  you  only  knew  how  happy  it  made  me — I  was 
never  tired  of  looking  at  it, — my  own  rose-tree !  I  counted  its 
leaves,  its  flowers ;  but  the  air  of  the  Cite  is  bad,  and  it  began  to 

wither  in  two  days.  Then But  you'll  laugh  at  me,  M. 

Eodolph?" 

"  No,  no ;  go  on." 

"  Well,  then,  I  asked  the  ogress  to  let  me  go  out,  and  take  my 
rose-tree  for  a  walk,  as  I  would  have  taken  a  child  out.  Well, 
then,  I  carried  it  to  the  Quai,  thinking  that  to  be  with  other 
flowers  in  the  fresh  and  balmy  air  would  do  it  good.  I  bathed 
its  poor  fading  leaves  in  the  clear  waters  of  the  fountain,  and 
then,  to  dry  it,  I  placed  it  for  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour  in  the 
sun.  Dear  little  rose-tree!  it  never  saw  the  sun  in  the  Cite  any 
more  than  I  did,  for  in  our  street  it  never  descends  lower  than 
the  roof.  At  last  I  went  back  again,  and,  I  assure  you,  M. 
Eodolph,  that,  thanks  to  these  walks,  my  rose-tree  lived  at  least 
ten  days  longer  than  it  would  have  done,  had  I  not  taken  such 
pains  with  it." 

"  ISTo  doubt  of  it.  But,  when  it  died,  what  a  loss  it  must  have 
been  to  you ! " 


THE  WALK.  55 

"  I  cried  heartily,  for  it  grieved  me  very,  very  much :  and  you 
see,  M.  Rodolph — for  you  know  one  loves  flowers,  although  one 
hasn't  any  of  one's  own — you  see,  I  felt  grateful  to  it,  the  dear 
rose-tree !  for  blooming  so  kindly  for  me,  although  I  was  so " 

Goualeuse  bent  her  head,  and  blushed  deeply. 

"  Unhappy  child !  with  this  feeling  of  your  own  position,  you 
must  often " 

"  Have  desired  to  end  it,  you  mean,  sir  ?  "  said  Goualeuse, 
interrupting  her  companion.  "Yes,  yes,  more  than  once.  A 
month  ago  I  looked  over  the  parapet  at  the  Seine;  but  then, 
when  I  looked  at  the  flowers,  and  the  sun,  then  I  said,  '  The 
river  will  be  always  there;  I  am  but  sixteen  and  a  half — who 
knows  ?  " 

"  When  you  said  '  who  knows/  you  had  hope  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"And  what  did  you  hope ?" 

"  To  find  some  charitable  soul  who  would  get  me  work,  so  that 
I  might  be  enabled  to  leave  the  ogress ;  and  this  hope  comforted 
me.  Then  I  said  to  myself,  I  am  very  wretched,  but  I  have 
never  injured  anybody,  and  if  I  had  anyone  to  advise  me  I 
should  not  be  as  I  am.  This  lightened  my  sorrow  a  little,  though 
it  had  greatly  increased  at  the  loss  of  my  rose-tree,"  added 
Goualeuse,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Always  so  very  sad." 

"Yes;  but  look,  here  it  is." 

And  Goualeuse  took  from  her  pocket  a  little  bundle  of  wood 
trimmed  very  carefully,  and  tied  with  a  rose-colored  bow. 

"What!  have  you  kept  it?" 

"  I  have,  indeed ;  it  is  all  I  possess  in  the  world." 

"  What !  have  you  nothing  else?  " 

«  Nothing." 

"This  coral  necklace?" 

"  Belongs  to  the  ogress." 

"  And  you  have  not  a  piece  of  ribbon,  a  cap,  or  handkerchief?  " 

"N"o,  nothing — nothing  but  the  dead  branches  of  my  poor 
rose-tree ;  and  that  is  why  I  love  it  so." 

When  Rodolph  and  Goualeuse  had  reached  the  Quai  aux 
Fleurs,  a  coach  was  waiting  there,  into  which  Rodolph  handed 
Goualeuse.  He  got  in  himself,  saying  to  the  driver, — 

"To  Saint-Denis;  I  will  tell  you  presently  which  road  to 
take." 

The  coach  went  on.  The  sun  was  bright,  and  the  sky  cloud- 
less, whilst  the  air,  fresh  and  crisp,  circulated  freely  through  the 
open  windows. 


56  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Here  is  a  woman's  cloak ! "  said  Goualeuse,  remarking  that 
she  had  seated  herself  on  the  garment  without  having  at  first 
noticed  it. 

"  Yes,  it  is  for  you,  my  child ;  I  brought  it  with  me  for  fear 
you  should  be  cold/' 

Little  accustomed  to  such  attention,  the  poor  girl  looked  at 
Eodolph  with  surprise. 

"Mon  Dieu!  Monsieur  Eodolph,  how  kind  you  are;  I  am 
really  ashamed " 

"  Because  I  am  kind  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  you  do  not  speak  as  you  did  yesterday ;  you  appear 
quite  another  person." 

"  Tell  me,  then,  Fleur-de-Marie,  which  do  you  like  best — the 
Eodolph  of  yesterday,  or  the  Eodolph  of  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  like  you  better  now ;  yet  yesterday  I  seemed  to  be  more 
your  equal."  Then,  as  if  correcting  herself,  and  fearing  to  have 
annoyed  Eodolph,  she  said  to  him,  "  When  I  say  your  equal, 
Monsieur  Eodolph,  I  do  not  mean  that  I  can  ever  be  that." 

"  One  thing  in  you  astonishes  me  very  much,  Fleur-de-Marie." 

"  And  what  is  that,  M.  Eodolph?  " 

"  You  appear  to  have  forgotten  that  the  Chouette  said  to  you 
yesterday  that  she  knew  the  persons  who  had  brought  you 
up." 

"  Oh !  I  have  not  forgotten  it ;  I  thought  of  it  all  night,  and  I 
cried  bitterly ;  but  I  am  sure  it  is  not  true ;  she  invented  this  tale 
to  make  me  unhappy." 

"  Yet  the  Chouette  may  know  more  than  you  think.  If  it 
were  so,  should  you  not  be  delighted  to  be  restored  to  your 
parents  ?  " 

"  Alas !  sir,  if  my  parents  never  loved  me,  what  should  I  gain 

by  discovering  them?  They  would  only  see  me  and But 

if  they  did  ever  love  me,  what  shame  I  should  bring  on  them ! 
perhaps  I  should  kill  them !  " 

"If  your  parents  ever  loved  you,  Fleur-de-Marie,  they  will 
pity,  pardon,  and  still  love  you.  If  they  have  abandoned  you, 
then,  when  they  see  the  frightful  destiny  to  which  they  have 
brought  you,  their  shame  and  remorse  will  avenge  you." 

"  What  is  the  good  of  vengeance?  " 

"  You  are  right ;  let  us  talk  no  more  on  the  subject." 

At  this  moment  the  carriage  reached  Saint-Ouen,  where  the 
road  divides  to  Saint-Denis  and  the  Eevolte.  In  spite  of  the 
monotony  of  the  landscape,  Fleur-de-Marie  was  so  delighted  at 
seeing  the  fields,  as  she  called  them,  that,  forgetting  the  sad 
thoughts  which  the  recollection  of  the  Chouette  had  awakened 


THE  WALK.  5tf 

in  her,  her  lovely  countenance  grew  radiant  with  delight.  She 
leaned  out  of  the  window,  clasping  her  hands,  and  crying, — 

"  Monsieur  Rodolph,  how  happy  I  am !  Grass !  Fields !  May 
I  get  out  ? — it  is  so  fine !  I  should  so  like  to  run  in  the 
meadows." 

"  Let  us  run,  then,  my  child. —    Coachman,  stop." 

"  What !  you,  too !  will  you  run,  M.  Rodolph?  " 

"I'm  having  a  holiday." 

"  Oh  !  what  pleasure !  " 

And  Rodolph  and  Goualeuse,  taking  each  other's  hand,  ran  as 
fast  as  they  could  over  a  long  piece  of  latter-grass,  just  mowed. 
It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  leaps  and  exclamations  of 
joy,  the  intense  delight,  of  Fleur-de-Marie.  Poor  lamb !  so  long 
a  prisoner,  she  inspired  the  free  air  with  indescribable  pleasure. 
She  ran,  returned,  stopped,  and  then  raced  off  again  with  re- 
newed happiness.  At  the  sight  of  the  daisies  and  buttercups 
Goualeuse  could  not  restrain  her  transport, — she  did  not  leave 
one  flower  which  she  could  gather.  After  having  run  about  in 
this  way  for  some  time  she  became  rather  tired,  for  she  had  lost 
ttte  habit  of  exercise,  and  stopped  to  take  breath,  sitting  down 
on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree  which  was  lying  at  the  edge  of  a 
deep  ditch. 

The  clear  and  white  complexion  of  Fleur-de-Marie,  generally 
rather  pale,  was  now  heightened  by  the  brightest  color.  Her 
large  blue  eyes  sparkled  brightly,  her  vermilion  lips,  partly 
opened  to  recover  her  breath,  displayed  two  rows  of  liquid  pearls ; 
her  bosom  throbbed  under  her  worn-out  little  orange  shawl,  and 
she  placed  one  of  her  hands  upon  her  heart,  as  if  to  restrain  it's 
quickened  pulsation,  whilst  with  the  other  hand  she  proffered  to 
Rodolph  the  bouquet  of  field  flowers  which  she  had  just  gathered. 
Nothing  could  be  more  charming  than  the  combination  of  in- 
nocence and  pure  joy  which  beamed  on  her  expressive  counte- 
nance. When  Fleur-de-Marie  could  speak,  she  said  to  Rodolph, 
with  an  accent  of  supreme  happiness  and  of  gratitude,  almost 
amounting  to  piety, — 

"  How  good  is  the  great  God  to  give  us  so  fine  a  day !  " 

A  tear  came  into  Rodolph's  eye  when  he  heard  this  poor,  for- 
saken, despised,  lost  creature  utter  a  cry  of  happiness  and  deep 
gratitude  to  the  Creator,  because  she  enjoyed  a  ray  of  sunshine 
and  the  sight  of  a  green  field.  He  was  roused  from  his  reverie 
by  an  unexpected  occurrence. 


58  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  SURPRISE. 

WE  have  said  that  Goualeuse  was  sitting  on  the  trunk  of  a 
fallen  tree,  at  the  edge  of  a  deep  ditch.  Suddenly  a  man, 
springing  up  from  the  bottom  of  this  hollow,  shook  the  rubbish 
from  him,  under  which  he  had  concealed  himself,  and  burst  into 
a  loud  fit  of  laughter.  Goualeuse  turned  round,  screaming  with 
alarm.  It  was  the  Chourineur. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  my  girl,"  said  the  Chourineur,  when  he 
saw  her  extreme  fear,  and  that  she  had  sought  protection  from 
her  companion.  "  Ah !  Master  Rodolph,  here's  a  curious  meet- 
ing, which  I  am  sure  neither  you  nor  I  expected."  Then  he 
added,  in  a  serious  tone,  "  Listen,  master.  People  may  say 
what  they  like,  but  there  is  something  in  the  air, — there,  up 
there,  above  our  heads,  very  wonderful ;  which  seems  to  say  to  a 
man,  '  Go  where  I  send  you/  See  how  you  two  have  been  sent 
here.  It  is  devilish  wonderful !  " 

"  What  are  you  doing  there  ?  "  said  Rodolph,  greatly  surprised. 

"  I  was  on  the  look-out  in  a  matter  of  yours,  master ;  but, 
thunder  and  lightning!  what  a  high  joke  that  you  should  come 
at  this  particular  moment  into  this  very  neighborhood  of  my 
country-house !  There's  something  in  all  this — decidedly  there 
is  something." 

"  But  again  I  ask  you,  what  are  you  doing  there  ?  " 

"  All  in  good  time,  I'll  tell  you ;  only  let  me  first  look  about 
me  for  a  moment." 

The  Chourineur  then  ran  towards  the  coach,  which  was  some 
distance  oif,  looked  this  way  and  that  way  over  the  plain  with  a 
keen  and  rapid  glance,  and  then  rejoined  Rodolph,  running 
quickly. 

"  Will  you  explain  to  me  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  " 

"Patience,  patience,  good  master;  one  word  more.  What's 
o'clock?" 

"  Half-past  twelve,"  said  Rodolph,  looking  at  his  watch. 

"All  right;  we  have  time,  then.  The  Chouette  will  not  be 
here  for  the  next  half-hour." 

"  The  Chouette ! "  cried  Rodolph  and  the  girl  both  at  once. 

"Yes,  the  Chouette;  in  two  words,  master,  I'll  tell  you  all. 
Yesterday,  after  you  had  left  the  tapis-franc,  there  came " 


THE  SURPRISE.  59 

"  A  tall  man  with  a  woman  in  man's  attire,  who  asked  for  me ; 
I  know  all  about  that,  but,  then " 

"  Then  they  paid  for  my  liquor,  and  wanted  to  draw  me  about 
you.  I  had  nothing  to  tell  them,  because  you  had  communicated 
nothing  to  me,  except  those  fisticuffs  which  settled  me.  All  I 
know  is,  that  I  learned  something  then  which  I  shall  not  easily 
forget.  But  we  are  friends  for  life  and  death,  Master  Rodolph, 
though  the  devil  burn  me  if  I  know  why.  I  feel  for  you  the 
regard  which  the  bull-dog  feels  for  his  master.  It  was  after  you 
told  me  that  I  had  ' heart  and  honor';  but  that's  nothing,  so 
there's  an  end  of  it.  It  is  no  use  trying  to  account  for  it;  so  it 
is,  and  so  let  it  be,  if  it's  any  good  to  you." 

"  Many  thanks,  my  man ;  but  go  on." 

"  The  tall  man  and  the  little  lady  in  man's  clothes,  finding 
that  they  could  get  nothing  out  of  me,  left  the  ogress's,  and  so 
did  I ;  they  going  towards  the  Palais  de  Justice,  and  I  to  Notre 
Dame.  On  reaching  the  end  of  the  street  I  found  it  was  raining 
pitchforks,  points  downwards — a  complete  deluge.  There  was 
an  old  house  in  ruins  close  at  hand,  and  I  said  to  myself,  if  this 
shower  is  to  last  all  night,  I  shall  sleep  as  well  here  as  in  my 
own  crib.  So  I  rolled  myself  into  a  sort  of  cave,  where  I  was 
high  and  dry;  my  bed  was  an  old  beam,  and  my  pillow  a  heap  of 
lath  and  plaster,  and  there  I  slept  like  a  king." 

"  Well,  well,  go  on." 

"  We  had  drunk  together,  Master  Rodolph,  I  had  drunk,  too, 
with  the  tall  man  and  the  little  woman  dressed  in  man's  clothes, 
so  you  may  believe  my  head  was  rather  heavy,  and,  besides,  noth- 
ing sends  me  off  to  sleep  like  a  good  fall  of  rain.  I  began,  then, 
to  snooze,  but  I  had  not  been  long  asleep,  I  think,  when,  aroused 
by  a  noise,  I  sat  up  and  listened.  I  heard  the  Schoolmaster, 
who  was  talking  in  a  friendly  tone  with  somebody.  I  soon  made 
out  that  he  was  parleying  with  the  tall  man  who  came  into  the 
tapis-franc  with  the  little  woman  dressed  in  man's  clothes." 

"  They  in  conference  with  the  Schoolmaster  and  the  Chou- 
ette  ?  "  said  Rodolph,  with  amazement. 

"  With  the  Schoolmaster  and  the  Chouette ;  and  they  agreed  to 
meet  again  on  the  morrow." 

"  That's  to-day !  "  said  Rodolph. 

"  At  one  o'clock." 
"  This  very  moment !  " 

"Where  the  road  branches  off  to  Saint-Denis  and  La  Re- 
volte." 

"  This  very  spot !  " 

"  Just  as  you  say,  Master  Rodolph,  on  this  very  spot/' 


60  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"The  Schoolmaster?  oh,  pray  be  on  your  guard,  Monsieur 
Rodolph !  "  exclaimed  Fleur-de-Marie. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  child,  he  won't  come ;  it's  only  the 
Chouette." 

"  How  could  the  man,  who,  with  the  female  in  disguise,  sought 
me  at  the  tapis-franc,  come  into  contact  with  these  two 
wretches  ?  "  said  Eodolph. 

"  Pf aith  I  don't  know,  and  I  think  I  only  awoke  at  the  end  of 
the  affair,  for  the  tall  man  was  talking  of  getting  back  his 
pocket-book,  which  the  Chouette  was  to  bring  here  in  exchange 
for  five  hundred  francs.  I  should  say  that  the  Schoolmaster 
had  begun  by  robbing  him,  and  that  it  'was  after  that  that  they 
began  to  parley,  and  to  come  to  friendly  terms." 

"  It  is  very  strange." 

"It  makes  me  quite  frightened  on  your  account,  Monsieur 
Rodolph,"  said  Fleur-de-Marie. 

"  Master  Rodolph  is  no  chicken,  girl ;  but,  as  you  say,  there 
may  be  something  working  against  him,  and  so  I  am  here." 

"  Go  on,  my  good  fellow." 

"The  tall  man  and  the  little  woman  have  promised  two 
thousand  francs  to  the  Schoolmaster  to  do  to  you — I  don't  know 
what.  The  Chouette  is  to  be  here  directly  to  return  the  pocket- 
book,  and  to  know  what  is  required  from  them,  which  she  is  to 
tell  the  Schoolmaster,  who  will  undertake  it." 

Fleur-de-Marie  started.    Rodolph  smiled  disdainfully. 

*  Two  thousand  francs  to  do  something  to  you,  Master  Ro- 
dolpji;  that  makes  me  think  that  when  I  see  a  notice  of  a  dog 
that  has  been  lost  (I  don't  mean  to  make  a  comparison),  and 
the  offer  of  a  hundred  francs  reward  for  his  recovery,  I  say  to 
myself,  '  Animal,  if  you  were  lost,  no  one  would  give  a  hundred 
farthings  to  find  you.'  Two  thousand  francs  to  do  something  to 
you !  Who  are  you,  then  ?  " 

"I'll  tell  you  by  and  by." 

"  That's  enough,  master.  When  I  heard  this  proposal,  I  said 
to  myself,  I  must  find  out  where  these  two  dons  live  who  want 
to  set  the  Schoolmaster  on  the  haunches  of  M.  Rodolph ;  it  may 
be  serviceable.  So,  when  they  had  gone  away,  I  got  out  of  my 
hiding-place,  and  followed  them  quietly.  I  saw  the  tall  man  and 
little  woman  get  into  a  coach  near  Notre  Dame,  and  I  got  up 
behind,  and  we  went  on  until  we  reached  the  Boulevard  de 
1'Observatoire.  It  was  as  dark  as  the  mouth  of  an  oven,  and  I 
could  not  distinguish  anything,  so  I  cut  a  notch  in  a  tree,  that 
I  might  find  out  the  place  in  the  morning." 

«  Well  thought  of,  my  good  fellow." 


THE  SURPRISE.  61 

"  This  morning  I  went  there,  and  about  ten  yards  from  the 
tree  I  saw  a  narrow  entrance,  closed  by  a  gate.  In  the  mud  there 
were  little  and  large  footsteps,  and  at  the  end  of  the  entrance 
a  small  garden-gate,  where  the  traces  ended;  so  the  roost- 
ing-place  of  the  tall  man  and  the  little  woman  must  be 
there." 

"  Thanks,  my  worthy  friend,  you  have  done  me  a  most  essen- 
tial piece  of  service,  without  knowing  it." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Master  Kodolph,  but  I  believed  I  was 
serving  you,  and  that  was  the  reason  I  did  as  I  did." 

"  I  know  it,  my  fine  fellow,  and  I  wish  I  could  recompense 
your  service  more  properly  than  by  thanks;  but,  unfortunately, 
i  am  only  a  poor  devil  of  a  workman,  although  you  say  they 
offer  two  thousand  francs  for  something  to  be  done  against  me. 
I  will  explain  that  to  you." 

"  Yes,  if  you  like,  but  not  unless.  Somebody  threatens  you 
with  something,  and  I  will  come  across  them  if  I  can;  the  rest 
is  your  affair." 

"  I  know  what  they  want.  Listen  to  me.  I  have  a  secret  for 
cutting  fans  in  ivory  by  a  mechanical  process,  but  this  secret 
does  not  belong  to  me  alone.  I  am  awaiting  my  comrade  to  go 
to  work,  and,  no  doubt,  it  is  the  model  of  the  machine,  which  I 
have  at  home,  that  they  are  desirous  of  getting  from  me  at  any 
price,  for  there  is  a  great  deal  of  money  to  be  made  by  the 
discovery." 

"  The  tall  man  and  the  little  woman,  then,  are " 

"  Workpeople  with  whom  I  have  been  associated,  and  to  whom 
I  have  refused  my  secret." 

This  explanation  appeared  satisfactory  to  the  Chourineur, 
whose  apprehension  was  not  the  clearest  in  the  world,  and  he 
replied, — 

"Now  I  understand  it  all.  The  beggars!  you  see  they  have 
not  the  courage  to  do  their  dirty  tricks  themselves.  But  to  come 
to  the  end  of  my  story.  I  said  to  myself,  this  morning,  I  know 
the  rendezvous  of  the  Chouette  and  the  tall  man ;  I  will  go  there 
and  wait  for  them ;  I  have  good  legs,  and  my  employer  will 
wait  for  me.  I  came  here,  found  this  hole,  and,  taking  an  arm- 
ful of  stuff  from  the  dunghill  yonder,  I  hid  myself  here  up  to 
my  nose,  and  waited  for  the  Chouette.  But,  lo  and  behold !  you 
came  into  the  field,  and  poor  Goualeuse  came  and  sat  down  on 
the  very  edge  of  my  park,  and  then  I  determined  to  have  a  bit 
of  fun,  and,  jumping  out  of  my  lair,  I  called  out  like  a  man  on 
fire." 

"  And  now  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 


62  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  To  wait  for  the  Chouette,  who  is  sure  to  come  first ;  to  try 
and  overhear  what  she  and  the  tall  man  talk  about,  for  that 
may  be  useful  for  you  to  know.  There  is  nothing  in  the  field 
but  this  trunk  of  a  tree,  and  from  here  you  may  see  all  over  the 
plain ;  it  is  as  if  it  was  made  on  purpose  to  sit  down  upon.  The 
rendezvous  of  the  Chouette  is  only  four  steps  off  at  the  cross 
road,  and  I  will  lay  a  bet  they  come  and  sit  here  when  they 
arrive.  If  I  cannot  hear  anything,  then,  as  soon  as  they  separate, 
I  will  follow  the  Chouette,  who  is  sure  to  stay  last,  and  I'll  pay 
her  the  old  grudge  I  owe  her  for  the  Goualeuse's  tooth ;  and  I'll 
twist  her  neck  until  she  tells  me  the  name  of  the  parents  of  the 
poor  girl,  for  she  says  she  knows  them-.  What  do  you  think  of 
my  idea,  Master  Eodolph  ?  " 

"  I  like  it  very  well,  my  lad ;  but  there  is  one  part  which  you 
must  alter." 

"  Oh !  Chourineur,  do  not  get  yourself  into  any  quarrel  on 
my  account.  If  you  beat  the  Chouette,  then  the  School- 
master  " 

"  Say  no  more,  my  lass.  The  Chouette  shall  not  go  scot  free 
for  me.  Confound  it !  why,  for  the  very  reason  that  the  School- 
master will  defend  her,  I  will  double  her  dose." 

"  Listen,  my  man,  to  me ;  I  have  a  better  plan  for  avenging 
the  Chouette's  brutalities  to  Goualeuse,  which  I  will  tell  you 
hereafter.  Now,"  said  Rodolph,  moving  a  few  paces  from 
Goualeuse,  and  speaking  low — "  now,  will  you  render  me  a  real 
service?" 

"  Name  it,  Master  Eodolph." 

"  The  Chouette  does  not  know  you  ?  " 

"  I  saw  her  yesterday  for  the  first  time  at  the  tapis-franc." 

"  This  is  what  you  must  do.  Hide  yourself  first ;  but,  when 
you  see  her  come  close  to  you,  get  out  of  this  hole " 

"And  twist  her  neck?" 

"  No,  defer  that  for  a  time.  To-day,  only  prevent  her  from 
speaking  to  the  tall  man.  He,  seeing  some  one  with  her,  will 
not  approach;  and  if  he  does,  do  not  leave  her  alone  for  a 
moment.  He  cannot  make  his  proposal  before  you." 

"If  the  man  thinks  me  curious,  I  know  what  to  do;  he  is 
neither  the  Schoolmaster  nor  Master  Eodolph.  I  will  follow 
the  Chouette  like  her  shadow,  and  the  man  shall  not  say  a  word 
that  I  do  not  overhear.  He  will  then  be  off,  and  after  that  I 
will  have  one  little  turn  with  the  Chouette.  I  must  have  it;  it 
will  be  such  a  sweet  drop  for  me." 

"  Not  yet ;  the  one-eyed  hag  does  not  know  whether  you  are 
a  thief  or  not?" 


THE  SURPRISE.  63 

"No,  not  unless  the  Schoolmaster  has  talked  of  me  to  her, 
and  told  her  that  I  did  not  do  business  in  that  line." 

"  If  he  have,  you  must  appear  to  have  altered  your  ideas  on 
that  subject." 

"IB 

"  Yes." 

"  Ten  thousand  thunders !  Mr.  Eodolph,  what  do  you  mean  ? 
indeed — truly — I  don't  like  it;  it  does  not  suit  me  to  play  such 
a  farce  as  that." 

"  You  shall  only  do  what  you  please ;  but  you  will  not  find 
that  I  shall  suggest  any  infamous  plan  to  you.  The  tall  man, 
once  driven  away,  you  must  try  and  talk  over  the  Chouette.  As 
she  will  be  very  savage  at  having  missed  the  good  haul  she 
expected,  you  must  try  and  smooth  her  down  by  telling  her  that 
you  know  of  a  capital  bit  of  business  which  may  be  done,  and 
that  you  are  then  waiting  for  your  comrade,  and  that,  if  the 
Schoolmaster  will  join  you,  there  is  a  lump  of  money  to  be 
made." 

«  Well,  well." 

"  After  waiting  with  her  for  an  hour,  you  may  say,  '  My  mate 
does  not  come,  and  so  the  job  must  be  put  off ' ;  and  then  you 
may  make  an  appointment  with  the  Chouette  and  the  School- 
master for  to-morrow,  at  an  early  hour.  Do  you  understand 
me?" 

"  Quite." 

"  And  this  evening,  at  ten  o'clock,  meet  me  at  the  corner  of 
the  Champs  Elysees,  and  the  Allee  des  Veuves,  and  I  will  tell 
you  more." 

"  If  it  is  a  trap,  look  out ! — the  Schoolmaster  is  a  scoundrel. 
You  have  beaten  him,  and,  no  doubt,  he  will  kill  you  if  he  can." 

"  Have  no  fear." 

"  By  Jove !  it  is  a  rum  start;  but  do  as  you  like  with  me.  I 
do  not  hesitate,  for  something  tells  me  that  there  is  a  rod  in 
pickle  for  the  Schoolmaster  and  the  Chouette.  One  word, 
though,  if  you  please,  M.  Eodolph." 

"  Say  it." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  are  the  man  to  lay  a  trap,  and  set  the 
police  on  the  Schoolmaster.  He  is  an  arrant  blackguard,  who 
deserves  a  hundred  deaths;  but  to  have  them  arrested,  that  I 
will  not  have  a  hand  in." 

"  Nor  I,  my  boy ;  but  I  have  a  score  to  wipe  off  with  him  and 
the  Chouette,  because  they  are  in  a  plot  with  others  against 
me ;  but  we  two  will  baffle  them  completely,  if  you  will  lend  me 
your  assistance." 


64  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Of  course  I  will ;  and,  if  that  is  to  be  the  game,  I  am  your 
man.  But,  quick,  quick,"  cried  the  Chourineur,  "  down  there  I 
see  the  head  of  the  Chouette.  I  know  it  is  her  bonnet.  Go,  go, 
and  I  will  drop  into  my  hole." 

"  To-night,  then,  at  ten  o'clock." 

"At  the  corner  of  the  Champs  Elysees  and  the  Alice  des 
Veuves:  all  right." 

Fleur-de-l&arie  had  not  heard  a  word  of  the  latter  part  of  the 
conversation  between  the  Chourineur  and  Eodolph,  and  now 
entered  again  into  the  coach  with  her  traveling  companion. 


CHAPTEE  X. 

CASTLES  IN  THE  AIR. 

FOR  some  time  after  this  conversation  with  the  Chourineur, 
Eodolph  remained  preoccupied  and  pensive,  while  Fleur-de- 
Marie,  too  timid  to  break  the  silence,  continued  to  gaze  on  him 
with  saddened  earnestness.  At  length  Eodolph  looked  up,  and, 
meeting  her  mournful  look,  smiled  kindly  on  her,  and  said, 
"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  my  child  ?  I  fear  our  rencounter  with 
the  Chourineur  has  made  you  uncomfortable,  and  we  were  so 
merry,  too." 

"  Oh !  no,  M.  Eodolph,  indeed,  I  do  not  mind  it  at  all ;  nay,  I 
even  believe  the  meeting  with  the  Chourineur  may  be  useful 
to  you." 

"  Did  not  this  man  pass  amongst  the  inhabitants  of  the  tapis- 
franc  as  possessing  some  good  points  among  his  many  bad 
ones?" 

"  Indeed,  I  know  not,  M.  Eodolph ;  for  although,  previously 
to  the  scene  of  yesterday,  I  had  frequently  seen  him,  I  had 
scarcely  ever  spoken  to  him.  I  always  looked  upon  him  as  bad 
as  all  the  rest." 

"  Well,  well,  do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  about  him,  my  pretty 
Fleur-de-Marie.  I  should  be  sorry,  indeed,  to  make  you  sad, — I 
who  brought  you  out  purposely  that  you  might  spend  a  happy 
day." 

"  Oh !  I  am  happy.  It  is  so  very  long  since  I  have  been  out 
of  Paris." 

"  Not  since  your  grand  doings  with  Eigolette." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  M.  Eodolph ;  but  that  was  in  the  spring.    Yet, 


CASTLES  IN  THE  AIR.  65 

though  it  is  now  autumn,  I  enjoy  it  quite  as  much.  How  beauti- 
fully the  sun  shines! — only  look  at  the  gold-colored  clouds  out 
there — there,  I  mean;  and  then  that  hill,  with  its  pretty  white 
houses  half  hid  among  the  trees,  and  the  leaves  still  so  green, 
though  we  are  in  the  middle  of  the  month  of  October.  Do  not 
you  think  it  is  wonderful,  M.  Rodolph,  they  should  so  well  pre- 
serve their  verdure?  In  Paris,  all  the  leaves  wither  so  soon. 
Look !  look  at  those  pigeons !  how  many  there  are !  and  how  high 
they  fly !  Now,  they  are  settling  on  that  old  mill.  One  is  never 
tired  in  the  open  fields  of  looking  at  all  these  amusing  sights." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  a  pleasure  to  behold  the  delight  you  seem  to 
take  in  all  these  trifling  matters,  Meur-de-Marie;  though  they, 
in  reality,  constitute  the  charm  of  a  landscape." 

And  Rodolph  was  right;  for  the  countenance  of  his  com- 
panion, while  gazing  upon  the  fair  calm  scene  before  her,  was 
lit  up  with  an  expression  of  the  purest  joy. 

"  See !  "  she  exclaimed,  after  intently  watching  the  different 
objects  that  unfolded  themselves  to  her  eager  look, — "  see  how 
beautifully  the  clear  white  smoke  rises  from  those  cottages,  and 
ascends  to  the  very  clouds  themselves;  and  there  are  some  men 
plowing  the  land.  What  a  capital  plow  they  have  got,  drawn 
by  those  two  fine  gray  horses.  Oh !  if  I  were  a  man,  how  I  should 
like  to  be  a  husbandman,  to  go  out  in  the  fields,  and  drive  one's 
own  plow;  and  then,  when  you  look  to  see  the  blue  skies,  and 
the  green  shiny  leaves  of  the  neighboring  forests, — such  a  day 
as  to-day,  for  instance,  when  you  feel  half  inclined  to  weep, 
without  knowing  why,  and  begin  singing  old  and  melancholy 
songs,  like  Genevieve  de  Brabant.  Do  you  know  *  Genevieve  de 
Brabant/  M.  Rodolph  ?  " 

"  No,  my  child ;  but  I  hope  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  sing 
it  to  me  before  the  day  is  over.  You  know  our  time  is  all  our 
own." 

At  these  words,  which  reminded  the  poor  Goualeuse  that  her 
newly  tasted  happiness  was  fast  fleeting  away,  and  that,  at  the 
close  of  this,  the  brightest  day  that  had  ever  shone  on  her 
existence,  she  must  return  to  all  the  horrors  of  a  corrupt  city, 
her  feelings  broke  through  all  restraint,  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  burst  into  tears.  Much  surprised  at  her  emotion, 
Rodolph  kindly  inquired  its  cause. 

"  What  ails  you,  Fleur-de-Marie  ?  What  fresh  grief  have  you 
found?" 

"Nothing — nothing  indeed,  M.  Rodolph,"  replied  the  girl, 
drying  her  eyes  and  trying  to  smile.  "Pray  forgive  me  for 
being  so  sad,  and  please  not  to  notice  it.  I  assure  you  I  have 


66  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

nothing  at  all  to  grieve  about — it  is  only  a  fancy ;  and  now  I  am 
going  to  be  quite  gay  you  will  see." 

"  And  you  were  as  gay  as  could  be  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"  Yes,  I  know  I  was ;  and  it  was  my  thinking  how  soon " 

answered  Fleur-de-Marie  naively,  and  raising  her  large,  tearful 
blue  eyes,  with  touching  candor,  to  his  face. 

The  look,  the  words,  fully  enlightened  Rodolph  as  to  the  cause 
of  her  distress,  and,  wishing  to  dissipate  it,  he  said  smilingly, — 

"  I  would  lay  a  wager  you  are  regretting  your  poor  rose-tree, 
and  are  crying  because  you  could  not  bring  it  out  walking  with 
you,  as  you  used  to  do." 

La  Goualeuse  fell  into  the  good-natured  scheme  for  regaining 
her  cheerfulness,  and  by  degrees  the  clouds  of  sadness  cleared 
away  from  her  fair  young  face;  and  once  again  she  appeared 
absorbed  in  the  pleasure  of  the  moment,  without  allowing  her- 
self to  recollect  the  future  that  would  succeed  it.  The  vehicle 
had  by  this  time  almost  arrived  at  Saint  Denis,  and  the  tall 
spires  of  the  cathedral  were  visible. 

"  Oh,  what  a  fine  steeple !  "  exclaimed  La  Goualeuse. 

"  It  is  that  of  the  splendid  church  of  Saint  Denis :  would  you 
like  to  see  it  ?  we  can  easily  stop  our  carriage." 

Poor  Fleur-de-Marie  cast  down  her  eyes.  "  From  the  hour  I 
went  to  live  with  the  ogress,"  said  she  in  a  low  tone,  while  deep 
blushes  dyed  her  cheek,  "  I  never  once  entered  a  church — I 
durst  not.  When  in  prison,  on  the  contrary,  I  used  to  delight  in 
helping  to  sing  the  mass;  and,  against  the  Fete-Dieu,  oh!  I 
made  such  lovely  bouquets  for  the  altar." 

"  But  God  is  merciful  and  good ;  why,  then,  fear  to  pray  to 
Him,  or  to  enter  His  holy  church  ?  " 

"  Oh !  no,  no,  Monsieur  Eodolph.  I  have  offended  God  deeply 
enough :  let  me  not  add  impiety  and  sacrilege  to  my  sins." 

After  a  moment's  silence,  Rodolph  again  renewed  the  con- 
versation, and,  kindly  taking  the  hand  of  La  Goualeuse,  said, 
"  Fleur-de-Marie,  tell  me  honestly,  have  you  ever  known  what 
it  is  to  love?" 

"  Never,  Monsieur  Rodolph." 

"  And  how  do  you  account  for  this?  " 

"You  saw  the  kind  of  persons  who  frequented  the  tapis- 
franc.  And  then,  to  love,  the  object  should  be  good  and 
virtuous " 

"Why  do  you  think  so?" 

"  Oh !  because  one's  lover,  or  husband,  would  be  all  in  all  to 
us,  and  we  should  seek  no  greater  happiness  than  in  devoting 
our  life  to  him.  But,  Monsieur  Rodolph,  if  you  please,  we  will 


CASTLES  IN  THE  AIR.  67 

talk  of  something  else,  for  the  tears  will  come  into  my  eyes." 

"  Willingly,  Fleur-de-Marie :  let  us  change  the  conversation. 
And  now  tell  me,  why  do  you  look  so  beseechingly  at  me  with 
those  large,  tearful  eyes?  Have  I  done  anything  to  displease 
you?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  'tis  the  excess  of  your  goodness  that  makes 
me  weep:  indeed,  I  could  almost  fancy  that  you  had  brought 
me  out  solely  for  my  individual  pleasure  and  enjoyment,  with- 
out thinking  of  yourself.  Not  content  with  your  generous  de- 
fense of  me  yesterday,  you  have  to-day  procured  for  me  happiness 
such  as  I  never  hoped  to  enjoy." 

"  You  are,  then,  truly  and  entirely  happy  ?  " 

"  Never,  never  shall  I  forget  to-day." 

"  Happiness  does  not  often  attend  us  on  earth,"  said  Eodolph^ 
sighing. 

"  Alas,  no !    Seldom,  perhaps  never." 

"  For  my  own  part,  to  make  up  for  a  want  of  reality  in  its 
possession,  I  often  amuse  myself  with  pictures  of  what  I  would 
have  if  I  could,  saying  to  myself,  This  is  how  and  where  I 
should  like  to  live — this  is  the  sort  of  income  I  should  like  to 
enjoy.  Have  you  never,  my  little  Fleur-de-Marie,  amused  your- 
self with  building  similar  '  castles  in  the  air '  ?  " 

"  Yes,  formerly,  when  I  was  in  prison,  before  I  went  to  live 
with  the  ogress — then  I  used  to  do  nothing  all  day  but  dance, 
sing,  and  build  these  faery  dreams ;  but  I  very  seldom  do  so  now. 
Tell  me,  Monsieur  Eodolph,  if  you  could  have  any  wish  you 
liked,  what  should  you  most  desire  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  to  be  rich,  with  plenty  of  servants  and 
carriages;  to  possess  a  splendid  hotel,  and  to  mix  in  the  first 
circles  of  fashion ;  to  be  able  to  obtain  any  amusement  I  pleased, 
and  to  go  to  the  theaters  and  opera  whenever  I  chose." 

"  Well,  then,  you  would  be  more  unreasonable  than  I  should. 
Now  I  will  tell  you  exactly  what  would  satisfy  me  in  every 
respect:  first  of  all,  sufficient  money  to  clear  myself  with  the 
ogress,  and  to  keep  me  till  I  could  obtain  work  for  my  future 
support;  then  a  pretty,  little,  nice,  clean  room,  all  to  myself, 
from  the  window  of  which  I  could  see  the  trees  while  I  sat  at 
my  work." 

"  Plenty  of  flowers  in  your  casement,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly !  And,  if  it  could  be  managed,  to  live  in  the 
country  always.  And  that,  I  think,  is  all  I  should  want." 

"Let  me  see:  a  little  room,  and  work  enough  to  maintain 
you — those  are  positive  necessaries;  but,  when  one  is  merely 
wishing,  there  is  no  harm  in  adding  a  few  superfluities:  should 


68  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

you  not  like  such  nice  things  as  carriages,  diamonds,  and  rich 
clothes?" 

"  Not  at  all !  All  I  wish  for  is  my  free  and  undisturbed 
liberty — a  country  life,  and  the  certainty  of  not  dying  in  an 
hospital.  Oh,  that  idea  is  dreadful !  Above  all  things,  I  would 
desire  the  certainty  of  its  never  being  my  fate.  Oh !  Monsieur 
Rodolph,  that  dread  often  comes  across  me  and  fills  me  with 
terror." 

"  Alas !  poor  folks,  such  as  we  are,  should  not  shrink  from 
such  things." 

"  "Pis  not  the  dying  in  a  charitable  institution  I  dread,  or  the 
poverty  that  would  send  me  into  it,  but  the  thoughts  of  what 
they  do  to  your  lifeless  remains." 

"  What  do  they  do  that  shocks  you  so  much  ?  " 

"  Is  it  possible,  Monsieur  Rodolph,  you  have  never  been  told 
what  will  become  of  you  if  you  die  in  one  of  those  places  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  I  have  not :  do  you  tell  me." 

"  Well,  then,  I  knew  a  youn?  girl  who  had  been  a  sort  of  com- 
panion to  me  when  I  was  in  prison;  she  afterwards  died  in  an 
hospital,  and  what  do  you  think? — her  body  was  given  to  the 
surgeons  for  dissection ! "  murmured  the  shuddering  Fleur-de- 
Marie. 

"  That  is,  indeed,  a  frightful  idea !  And  do  these  miserable 
anticipations  often  trouble  you,  my  poor  girl  ?  " 

"Ah,  Monsieur  Rodolph,  it  surprises  you  that,  after  my  un- 
happy life,  I  can  feel  any  concern  as  to  what  becomes  of  my 
miserable  remains!  God  knows,  the  feeling  which  makes  me 
shrink  from  such  an  outrage  to  modesty  is  all  my  wretched  fate 
has  left  me!" 

The  mournful  tone  in  which  these  words  were  uttered,  and  the 
bitter  feelings  they  contained,  went  to  the  heart  of  Rodolph; 
but  his  companion,  quickly  perceiving  his  air  of  deep  dejection, 
and  blaming  herself  for  having  caused  it,  said  timidly, — 

"  Monsieur  Rodolph,  I  feel  that  I  am  behaving  very  ill  and 
ungratefully  towards  you,  who  so  kindly  brought  me  out  to 
amuse  me  and  give  me  pleasure;  in  return  for  which  I  only 
keep  talking  to  you  about  all  the  dull  and  gloomy  things  I  can 
think  of!  I  wonder  how  I  can  do  so! — to  be  able  even  to 
recollect  my  misery,  when  all  around  me  smiles  and  looks  so  gay ! 
I  cannot  tell  how  it  is,  words  seem  to  rise  from  my  lips  in  spite 
of  myself;  and,  though  I  feel  happier  to-day  than  I  ever  did 
before  in  my  life,  my  eyes  are  continually  filling  with  tears ! 
You  are  not  angry  with  me,  are  you,  Monsieur  Rodolph?  See, 
too,  my  sadness  is  going  away  as  suddenly  as  it  came.  There 


CASTLES  IN  THE  ATR.  69 

now,  it  is  all  gone,  and  shall  not  return  to  vex  you  any  more,  I 
am  determined.  Look,  Monsieur  Kodolph,  just  look  at  my  eyes 
— they  do  not  show  that  I  have  been  crying,  do  they  ?  " 

And  here  Fleur-de-Marie,  having  repeatedly  closed  her  eyes 
to  get  rid  of  the  rebellious  tears  that  would  gather  there,  opened 
them  full  upon  Bodolph,  with  a  look  of  most  enchanting  candor 
and  sweetness. 

"  Put  no  restraint  on  yourself,  I  beseech  you,  Fleur-de-Marie ; 
be  gay,  if  you  really  feel  so;  or  sad,  if  sadness  most  suits  your 
present  state  of  mind.  I  have  my  own  hours  of  gloom  and 
melancholy,  and  my  sufferings  would  be  much  increased  were  I 
compelled  to  feign  a  lightness  of  heart  I  did  not  really  possess." 

"  Can  it  be  possible,  Monsieur  Kodolph,  that  you  are  ever 
sad?" 

"  Quite  possible,  my  child,  and  true.  Alas !  the  prospect 
before  me  is  but  little  brighter  than  your  own.  I,  like  you,  am 
without  friends  or  parents;  what  would  become  of  me  if  I  were 
to  fall  ill  and  be  unable  to  earn  my  daily  bread,  for  I  need 
scarcely  tell  you  I  live  but  from  day  to  day,  and  spend  my  money 
quite  as  fast  as  I  obtain  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  that  is  wrong,  Monsieur  Eodolph — very,  very 
wrong !  "  said  La  Goualeuse,  in  a  tone  of  such  deep  and  grave 
remonstrance  as  made  him  smile.  "  You  should  always  lay  by 
something.  Look  at  me :  why,  all  my  troubles  and  misfortunes 
have  happened  because  I  did  not  save  my  money  more  carefully. 
If  once  a  person  can  get  a  hundred  francs  beforehand,  he  need 
never  fear  falling  into  any  one's  power:  generally,  a  difficulty 
about  money  puts  very  evil  thoughts  into  our  head." 

"  All  that  is  very  wise  and  very  sensible,  my  frugal  little 
friend ;  but  a  hundred  francs ! — that  is  a  large  sum — how  could 
a  man  like  myself  ever  amass  so  much  ?  " 

"  Why,  M.  Eodolph,  it  is  really  very  easy,  if  you  will  but  con- 
sider a  little.  First  of  all,  I  think  you  said  you  could  earn  five 
francs  a  day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  so  I  can,  when  I  choose  to  work." 

"  Ah !  but  you  should  work,  constantly  and  regularly ;  and 
yours  is  such  a  pretty  trade.  To  paint  fans !  how  nice  such  work 
must  be — mere  amusement,  quite  a  recreation !  I  cannot  think 
why  you  should  ever  be  tired  or  dull.  Indeed,  Monsieur 
Eodolph,  I  must  tell  you  plainly  I  do  not  pity  you  at  all :  and, 
besides,  really  you  talk  like  a  mere  child  when  you  say  you  can- 
not save  money  out  of  such  large  earnings,"  added  La  Goualeuse, 
in  a  sweet  but,  for  her,  severe  tone.  "Why,  a  workman  may 
live  well  upon  three  francs  a  day;  there  remain  forty-sous:  at 


IQ  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

the  end  of  a  month,  if  you  manage  prudently,  you  will  have 
saved  sixty  francs.  Think  of  that!  There's  a  sum! — sixty 
francs  in  one  month !  " 

"  Oh !  but  one  likes  to  show  off  sometimes,  and  to  indulge  in  a 
little  idleness." 

"  There  now,  M.  Kodolph,  I  declare  you  make  me  quite  angry 
to  hear  you  talk  so  childishly!  Pray  let  me  advise  you  to  be 
wiser." 

"  Come,  then,  my  sage  little  monitress,  I  will  be  a  good  boy, 
and  listen  to  all  your  careful  advice.  And  your  idea  of  saving, 
too,  is  a  remarkably  good  one:  I  never  thought  of  it  before." 

"  Eeally ! "  exclaimed  the  poor  girl,  clapping  her  hands  with 
joy.  "  Oh,  if  you  knew  how  delighted  I  am  to  hear  you  say  so ! 
Then  you  will  begin  from  to-day  to  lay  by  the  forty  sous  we 
were  talking  about,  will  you  ?  Will  you,  indeed  ?  " 

"I  give  you  my  honor  that,  from  this  very  hour,  I  will  re- 
solve to  follow  up  your  most  excellent  plan,  and  save  forty 
sous  out  of  each  day's  pay." 

"  Are  you  quite,  quite  sure  you  will  ?  " 

"  Nay,  have  I  not  promised  you  that  I  will  ?  " 

"  You  will  see  how  proud  and  happy  you  will  be  with  your 

first  savings ;  and  that  is  not  all Ah,  if  you  would  promise 

not  to  be  angry !  " 

"  Do  I  look  as  though  I  could  be  so  unkind,  Fleur-de-Marie, 
as  to  find  fault  with  anything  you  said  ?  " 

"  Oh !  no,  indeed,  that  you  do  not :  only  I  hardly  know  whether 
I  ought " 

"You  ought  to  tell  me  everything  you  think  or  feel,  Fleur- 
de-Marie." 

"  Well,  then,  I  was  wondering  how  you,  who,  it  is  easily  seen, 
are  above  your  condition,  can  frequent  such  low  cabarets  as 
that  kept  by  the  ogress." 

"Had  I  not  done  so,  I  should  not  have  had  the  pleasure  of 
wandering  in  the  fields  with  you  to-day,  my  dear  Fieur-de- 
Marie." 

"That  is,  indeed,  true,  M.  Rodolph;  but,  still,  it  does  not 
alter  my  first  opinion.  ISTo,  much  as  I  enjoy  to-day's  treat,  I 
would  cheerfully  give  up  all  thoughts  of  ever  passing  such  an- 
other if  I  thought  it  could  in  any  way  injure  you." 

"  Injure  me !  Far  from  it !  Think  of  the  excellent  advice  you 
have  been  giving  me." 

"  Which  you  have  promised  me  to  follow  ?  " 

"I  have;  and  I  pledge  my  word  of  honor  to  save  hencefor- 
ward at  least  forty  sous  a  day."  Thus  speaking,  Eodolph  called 


CASTLES  IN  THE  ATR.  fl 

out  to  the  driver  of  their  vehicle,  who  was  passing  the  village 
of  Sarcelles,  "  take  the  first  road  to  the  right — cross  Villiers  to 
Bel — turn  to  the  left — then  keep  along  quite  straight." 

"  Now/'  said  Rodolph,  turning  to  his  companion,  "  that  I  am 
a  good  boy,  and  promised  to  do  all  you  tell  me,  let  us  go  back 
to  our  diversion  of  building  castles  in  the  air:  that  does  not 
run  away  with  much  money.  You  will  not  object  to  such  a 
method  of  amusing  myself,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Oh !  no,  build  as  many  as  you  like — they  are  very  cheaply 
raised,  and  very  easily  knocked  down  when  you  are  tired  of  them. 
Now,  then,  you  begin." 

"  Well,  then No !  Fleur-de-Marie,  you  shall  build  up 

yours  first." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  could  guess  what  I  should  choose,  if  wishing 
were  all,  M.  Rodolph." 

"Let  us  try.  Suppose  that  this  road — I  say  this  road,  be- 
cause we  happen  to  be  on  it " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  of  course :  this  road  is  as  good  as  any  other." 

"  Well,  then,  I  say,  I  suppose  that  this  road  lead's  to  a  delight- 
ful little  village,  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  high 
road ' 

"  Oh,  yes !  that  makes  it  so  much  more  still  and  quiet !  " 

"  It  is  built  facing  the  south,  and  half  surrounded  by 
trees " 

"  And  close  by  flows  a  gentle  river." 

"  Exactly ! — a  clear,  gently  flowing  river.  At  the  end  of  this 
village  stands  a  pretty  farm,  with  a  nice  orchard  on  one  side 
of  it,  and  a  garden,  filled  with  flowers,  on  the  other 

"  That  farm  shall  be  called  my  farm,  to  which  we  will  pretend 
we  are  now  going." 

"Just  so." 

"And  where  we  know  we  shall  get  some  delicious  milk  to 
drink  after  our  journey  !  " 

"  Milk,  indeed !  Excellent  cream,  and  newly  laid  eggs,  if  you 
please." 

"  And  where  we  would  be  glad  to  stay  all  our  lives !  " 

"  All  our  lives !    Quite  right — go  on." 

"  And  then  we  should  go  and  see  all  the  cows !  " 

"  To  be  sure  we  should." 

"And  afterwards  visit  the  dairy?" 

"  Visit  the  dairy !    Yes." 

"  Then  the  pigeon-house  ?  " 

«  Yes,  so  we  should." 

"  Oh,  how  very,  very  nice,  only  to  think  of  such  things !  " 


72  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  But  let  me  finish  the  description  of  the  farm " 

"  Yes,  pray  do !    I  quite  forgot  that." 

"  Well,  then,  the  ground-floor  contains  two  rooms;  one  a  large 
kitchen  for  the  farm  servants,  and  the  other  for  the  owner  of  the 
place." 

"  Make  that  room  have  green  blinds,  M.  Rodolph — do,  pray : 
they  are  so  cool,  and  look  so  pretty !  " 

"  Yes,  yes — green  blinds  to  the  windows.  I  quite  agree  with 
you — they  do  look  uncommonly  pretty,  and  set  off  a  place  so 
well !  Of  course,  the  person  tenanting  this  farm  is  your  aunt." 

"  Of  course  she  is  my  aunt,  and  a  very  good,  sensible,  kind 
woman,  M.  Rodolph,  is  she  not  ?  " 

"  Particularly  so,  and  loves  you  like  her  own  child." 

"  Dear,  good  aunt !  Oh,  how  delightful  to  have  some  one  to 
love  us  I" 

"  And  you  return  the  tender  affection  she  bears  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  with  all  my  heart !  "  exclaimed  Fleur-de-Marie,  clasping 
her  hands,  and  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven  with  an  expression 
impossible  to  describe.  "  And  I  should  help  her  to  work — to 
attend  to  the  family  linen — to  keep  everything  neat  and  clean — 
to  store  up  the  summer  fruits  against  winter —  Oh,  she  should 
never  have  to  complain  that  I  was  idle,  I  promise !  First  of  all, 
in  the  morning " 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Fleur-de-Marie :  you  are  in  too  great  a  hurry. 
I  want  to  finish  describing  the  house  to  you:  never  mind  your 
aunt  just  yet." 

"  Ah,  ha,  Mr.  Painter !  all  this  is  taken  from  some  pretty 
landscape  you  have  been  painting  on  a  fan.  Now  I  know  what 
makes  you  so  expert  at  describing  it ! "  said  La  Goualeuse, 
laughing  merrily  at  her  own  little  jest. 

"You  little  chatterer,  be  quiet!  will  you?" 

"Yes,  I  am  a  chatterer,  indeed,  to  interrupt  you  so  often, 
Monsieur  Rodolph ;  but  pray  go  on,  and  I  will  not  speak  again 
till  you  have  finished  painting  this  dear  farm." 

"  Your  room  is  on  the  first  floor " 

"My  room!  how  charming!  Oh,  go  on — go  on,  please,  M. 
Rodolph,  and  describe  all  about  it  to  me ! "  And  the  delighted 
girl  opened  her  large  laughing  eyes,  and  pressed  more  closely 
against  Rodolph,  as  if  she  expected  to  see  the  picture  in  his  hand. 

"  Your  chamber  has  two  windows  looking  out  upon  the  flower- 
garden,  and  a  small  meadow,  watered  by  the  river  we  mentioned. 
On  the  opposite  bank  of  the  stream  rises  a  small  hill,  planted 
with  fine  old  chestnut-trees;  and  from  amongst  them  peeps  out 
the  village  church " 


CASTLES  IN  THE  AIR.  73 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful — how  very  beautiful,  M.  Kodolph !  It 
makes  one  quite  long  to  be  there." 

"  Three  or  four  fine  cows  are  grazing  in  the  meadow,  which  is 
only  separated  from  the  garden  by  a  hedge  of  honeysuckle " 

"  And  from  my  windows  I  can  see  the  cows  ?  " 

"  Perfectly." 

"  And  one  among  them  ought  to  be  my  favorite,  you  know,  M. 
Eodolph;  and  I  ought  to  put  a  little  bell  round  its  neck,  and 
use  it  to  feed  out  of  my  hands !  " 

"  Of  course  she  would  come  when  you  called  her.  Let  me 
see,  what  name  shall  we  give  her?  Suppose  we  say,  MUSETTE. 
Do  you  like  that?  She  shall  be  very  young  and  gentle,  and 
entirely  white." 

"  Oh,  what  a  pretty  name !  Musette!  Ah  !  Musette,  Musette, 
I  shall  be  always  feeding  you  and  patting  you  to  make  you  know 
me.'* 

"  Now  we  will  finish  the  inside  of  your  apartment,  Fleur-de- 
Marie.  The  curtains  and  furniture  are  green,  like  the  blinds; 
and  outside  the  window  grow  an  enormous  rose-tree  and  honey- 
suckle, which  entirely  cover  this  side  of  the  farm,  and  so  sur- 
round your  casements,  that  you  have  only  to  stretch  out  your 
hand  to  gather  a  large  bunch  of  roses  and  honeysuckle  wet  with 
the  early  morning  dew." 

"  Ah,  M.  Rodolph,  what  a  good  painter  you  are !  " 

"  Now  this  is  the  way  you  will  pass  your  day " 

"  Yes,  yes,  let  us  see  how  I  shall  employ  myself  all  day." 

"  Early  in  the  morning  your  good  aunt  wakes  you  with  a 
tender  kiss;  she  brings  with  her  a  bowl  of  new  milk,  just  warm, 
which  she  prays  you  to  drink,  as  she  fancies  you  are  delicate 
about  the  lungs,  poor  dear  child !  Well,  you  do  as  she  wishes 
you ;  then  rise,  and  take  a  walk  round  the  farm ;  pay  a  visit  to 
Musette,  the  poultry,  your  pets  the  pigeons,  the  flowers  in  the 
garden,  till  nine  o'clock,  when  your  writing-master  arrives " 

"My  writing-master?" 

"  Why,  you  know,  unless  you  learned  such  necessary  things 
as  reading,  writing,  and  accounts,  you  would  not  be  able  to  assist 
your  aunt  to  keep  her  books  relative  to  the  produce  of  the  farm." 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure !  How  very  stupid  of  me  not  to  recollect  that 
T  must  learn  to  write  well,  if  I  wished  to  help  my  aunt ! "  cried 
the  young  girl,  so  thoroughly  absorbed  in  the  picture  of  this 
peaceful  life  as  to  believe  for  the  moment  in  its  reality. 

"  After  your  lesson  is  concluded,  you  will  occupy  yourself  in 
household  matters,  or  embroider  some  pretty  little  article  of 
dress  for  yourself;  then  you  will  practise  your  writing  for  an 


74:  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

hour  or  two,  and,  then  when  that  is  done,  join  your  aunt  in  her 
round  of  visits  to  the  different  operations  of  the  farm :  in  the 
summer,  to  see  how  the  reapers  get  on  in  the  hayfield ;  in  harvest- 
time,  to  observe  the  reapers,  and  afterwards  to  enjoy  the  delight 
with  which  the  gleaners  pick  up  the  scattered  ears  of  grain :  by 
this  time  you  will  have  almost  tired  yourself,  and  gathering  a 
large  handful  of  wild  herbs,  carefully  selected  by  you  as  the 
known  favorites  of  your  dear  Musette,  you  turn  your  steps 
homewards " 

"  But  we  go  back  through  the  meadow,  dear  Monsieur  Rodolph, 
do  we  not  ? "  inquired  La  Goualeuse,  as  earnestly  as  though 
every  syllable  her  ears  drank  in  was  to  be,  effectually  brought  to 
pass. 

"  Oh !  yes,  by  all  means ;  and  there  happens,  fortunately,  to  be 
a  nice  little  bridge,  by  which  the  river  separating  the  farm- 
land from  the  meadow  may  be  crossed.  By  the  time  you  reach 
home,  upon  my  word,  it  is  seven  o'clock;  and,  as  the  evenings 
begin  to  be  a  little  chill,  a  bright,  cheerful  fire  is  blazing  in  the 
large  farm  kitchen:  you  go  in  there  for  a  few  minutes,  just  to 
warm  yourself  and  to  speak  a  few  kind  words  to  the  honest 
laborers,  who  are  enjoying  a  hearty  meal  after  the  day's  toil  is 
over.  Then  you  sit  down  to  dinner  with  your  aunt;  sometimes 
the  cure,  or  a  neighboring  farmer,  is  invited  to  share  the  meal. 
After  dinner  you  read  or  work,  while  your  aunt  and  her  guest 
have  a  friendly  game  at  piquet.  At  ten  o'clock  she  dismisses 
you,  with  a  kiss  and  a  blessing,  to  your  chamber:  you  retire  to 
your  room;  offer  prayers  and  thanksgivings  to  the  Great  Author 
of  all  your  happiness ;  then  sleep  soundly  till  morning,  when  the 
same  routine  begins  again." 

"  Oh !  Monsieur  Rodolph,  one  might  lead  such  a  life  as  that 
for  a  hundred  years,  without  ever  knowing  one  moment's 
weariness." 

"  But  that  is  not  all.  There  are  Sundays  and  fete-days  to  be 
thought  of." 

"  Yes;  and  how  should  we  pass  those? " 

"  Why,  you  would  put  on  your  holiday  dress,  with  one  of  those 
pretty  little  caps  a  la  paysanne,  which  all  admit  you  look  so  very 
nicely  in,  and  accompany  your  aunt  in  her  large  old-fashioned 
chaise,  driven  by  James  the  farm-servant,  to  hear  mass  in  the 
village  church;  after  which,  during  summer,  your  kind  relative 
would  take  you  to  the  different  fetes  given  in  the  adjoining 
parishes.  You,  so  gentle,  so  modest  and  good-looking,  so  ten- 
derly beloved  by  your  aunt,  and  so  well  spoken  of  by  the  cure 
for  all  the  virtues  and  qualifications  which  make  a  good  wife, 


CASTLES  IN  THE  AIR.  75 

will  have  no  scarcity  of  offers  for  your  hand  in  the  dance — 
indeed,  all  the  principal  young  farmers  will  be  anxious  to  secure 
you  as  a  partner,  by  way  of  opening  an  acquaintance  which  shall 
last  for  life.  By  degrees  you  begin  to  remark  one  more  than  the 
others ;  you  perceive  his  deep  desire  to  attract  your  undivided 
attention,  and  so "  And  here  Rodolph,  struck  by  the  con- 
tinued silence  of  La  Goualeuse,  looked  up  at  her.  Alas !  the  poor 
girl  was  endeavoring,  though  fruitlessly,  to  choke  the  deep  sobs 
which  almost  suffocated  her.  For  a  brief  period,  carried  away 
by  the  words  of  Kodolph,  the  bright  future  presented  to  her 
mental  vision  had  effaced  the  horrible  present:  but  too  quickly 
did  the  hideous  picture  return,  and  sweep  away  forever  the  dear 
delight  of  believing  so  sweet,  so  calm  an  existence,  could  ever 
be  hers. 

"  Fleur-de-Marie,"  asked  Eodolph,  in  a  kind  and  affectionate 
tone,  "  why  is  this  ?  why  these  tears  ?  " 

"  Ah !  M.  Rodolph,  you  have  unintentionally  caused  me  much 
pain.  Foolish  girl  that  I  was,  I  had  listened  to  you  till  I  quite 
fancied  this  paradise  were  a  true  picture." 

"  And  so  it  is,  my  dear  child !  This  paradise,  as  you  call  it,  is 
no  fiction." 

"  Stop,  coachman !  " 

"  Now  look !  see !  observe  where  we  are !  " 

As  the  carriage  stopped,  La  Goualeuse,  at  Rodolph's  bidding, 
mechanically  raised  her  head — they  were  on  the  summit  of  a 
little  hill :  what  was  her  surprise,  her  astonishment,  at  the  scene 
which  revealed  itself  to  her  gaze!  The  pretty  village,  built 
facing  the  south — the  farm,  the  meadow,  the  beautiful  cows,  the 
little  winding  river,  the  chestnut  grove,  the  church  in  the  dis- 
tance ! — the  whole  picture,  so  vividly  painted,  was  before  her 
eyes.  Nothing  was  wanting — even  the  milk-white  heifer,  Mu- 
sette, her  future  pet,  was  peacefully  grazing  as  she  had  been 
described.  The  rich  coloring  of  an  October  sun  gilded  the 
charming  landscape,  while  the  variegated  tint  of  the  chestnut- 
leaves,  slightly  tinged  by  the  auttimnal  breezes,  stood  out  in  bold 
relief  against  the  clear  blue  of  the  surrounding  sky. 

"Well,  my  little  Fleur-de-Marie,  what  do  you  say  to  this? 
Am  I  a  good  painter,  or  not  ?  " 

La  Goualeuse  looked  at  him  with  a  surprise  in  which  a  degree 
of  uneasiness  was  mingled;  all  she  saw  and  heard  appeared  to 
her  to  partake  largely  of  the  supernatural. 

"  Monsieur  Rodolph,"  she  at  length  exclaimed,  with  a  be- 
wildered look,  "  how  can  this  be  ?  Indeed,  indeed,  I  feel  afraid 
to  look  at  it — it  is  so  exactly  alike.  I  cannot  believe  it  is  any- 


76  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

thing  but  a  dream  you  have  conjured  up,  and  which  will  quickly 
pass  away.  Speak  to  me !  pray  do ;  and  tell  me  what  to  believe." 

"  Calm  yourself,  my  dear  child !  Nothing  is  more  simple  or 
true  than  what  you  behold  here.  The  good  woman  who  owns 
this  farm  was  my  nurse,  and  brought  me  up  here :  intending  to 
give  myself  a  treat,  I  sent  to  her  early  this  morning  to  say  I  was 
coming  to  see  her.  You  see  I  painted  after  nature." 

"You  are  quite  right,  M.  Rodolph,"  sighed  La  Goualeuse. 
"  There  is,  indeed,  nothing  but  what  is  quite  natural  in  all  this." 

The  farm  to  which  Rodolph  had  conducted  Fleur-de-Marie 
was  situated  at  the  outer  extremity  of  the  village  of  Bouqueval — 
a  small,  isolated,  and  unknown  hamlet,  entirely  surrounded  by 
its  own  lands,  and  about  two  leagues'  distance  from  Ecouen :  the 
vehicle,  following  the  directions  of  Rodolph,  rapidly  descended 
the  hill,  and  entered  a  long  avenue  bordered  with  apple  and 
cherry-trees,  while  the  wheels  rolled  noiselessly  over  the  short 
fine  grass  with  which  the  unfrequented  road  was  overgrown. 

Fleur-de-Marie,  whose  utmost  efforts  were  unavailing  to  shake 
off  the  painful  sensations  she  experienced,  remained  so  silent 
and  mournful  that  Rodolph  reproached  himself  with  having,  by 
his  well-intentioned  surprise,  been  the  cause  of  it.  In  a  few 
moments  more,  the  carriage,  passing  by  the  large  entrance  to  the 
farm,  entered  a  thick  avenue  of  elm-trees,  and  stopped  before  a 
little  rustic  porch,  half  hidden  by  the  luxuriant  branches  of  the 
vine  which  clustered  round  it. 

"Now,  Fleur-de-Marie,  here  we  are.  Are  you  pleased  with 
what  you  see  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  am,  M.  Rodolph.  But  how  shall  I  venture  before 
the  good  person  you  mentioned  as  living  here  ?  Pray  do  not  let 
her  see  me — I  cannot  venture  to  approach  her." 

"And  why,  my  child?" 

"  True,  M.  Rodolph ;  I  forget  she  does  not  know  me,  and  will 
not  guess  how  unworthy  I  am."  And  poor  Fleur-de-Marie  tried 
to  suppress  the  deep  sigh  that  would  accompany  her  words. 

The  arrival  of  Rodolph  had,  no  doubt,  been  watched  for ;  the 
driver  had  scarcely  opened  the  carriage-door  when  a  prepossess- 
ing female,  of  middle  age,  dressed  in  the  style  of  wealthy  land- 
holders about  Paris,  and  whose  countenance,  though  melancholy, 
was  also  gentle  and  benevolent  in  its  expression,  appeared  in  the 
porch,  and  with  respectful  eagerness  advanced  to  meet  Rodolph. 

Poor  Goualeuse  felt  her  cheeks  flush  and  her  heart  beat  as 
she  timidly  descended  from  the  vehicle. 

"Good  day,  good  day,  Madame  Georges,"  said  Rodolph,  ad- 
vancing towards  the  individual  so  addressed,  "you  see  I  am 


CASTLES  IN  TUB  AIR.  77 

punctual."  Then  turning  to  the  driver,  and  putting  money  into 
his  hand,  he  said,  "  Here,  my  friend,  there  is  no  further  occasion 
to  detain  you;  you  may  return  to  Paris  as  soon  as  you  please." 

The  coachman,  a  little,  short,  square-built  man,  with  his  hat 
over  his  eyes,  and  his  countenance  almost  entirely  concealed  by 
the  high  collar  of  his  driving-coat,  pocketed  the  money  without  a 
word,  remounted  his  seat,  gave  his  horses  the  whip,  and  disap- 
peared down  the  aUce  verte  by  which  he  had  entered. 

Fleur-de-Marie  sprung  to  the  side  of  Rodolph,  and  with  an 
air  of  unfeigned  alarm,  almost  amounting  to  distress,  said,  in  a 
tone  so  low  as  not  to  be  overheard  by  Madame  Georges, — 

"  Monsieur  Rodolph !  Monsieur  Rodolph !  pray  do  not  be 
angry,  but  why  have  you  sent  away  the  carriage?  Will  it  not 
return  to  fetch  us  away  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not ;  I  have  quite  done  with  the  man,  and  there- 
fore dismissed  him." 

"  But  the  ogress !  " 

"  What  of  her  ?    Why  do  you  mention  her  name  ?  " 

"  Alas !  alas !  because  I  must  return  to  her  this  evening ;  in- 
deed, indeed,  I  must,  or — or  she  will  consider  me  a  thief.  The 
very  clothes  I  have  on  are  hers,  and,  besides,  I  owe  her " 

"  Make  yourself  quite  easy,  my  dear  child ;  it  is  my  part  to 
ask  your  forgiveness,  not  you  mine." 

"  My  forgiveness !  Oh  !  for  what  can  you  require  me  to  pardon 
you  ?  " 

"  For  not  having  sooner  told  you  that  you  no  longer  owe  the 
ogress  anything;  that  it  rests  only  with  yourself  to  decide 
whether  you  will  henceforward  make  this  quiet  spot  your  home, 
and  cast  off  the  garments  you  now  wear  for  others  my  kind 
friend,  Madame  Georges,  will  furnish  you  with.  She  is  much 
about  your  height,  and  can  supply  you  with  everything  you 
require.  She  is  all  impatience  to  commence  her  part  of  *  aunt/ 
I  can  assure  you." 

Poor  Fleur-de-Marie  seemed  utterly  unable  to  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  all  she  saw  and  heard,  and  gazed  with  wondering  and 
perplexed  looks  from  one  companion  to  the  other,  as  though 
fearing  to  trust  either  her  eyes  or  ears. 

"  Do  I  understand  you  rightly  ? "  she  cried  at  length,  half 
breathless  with  emotion,  "  Not  go  back  to  Paris?  Remain  here? 
And  this  lady  will  permit  me  to  stay  with  her?  Oh!  it  cannot 
be  possible;  I  dare  not  hope  it;  that  would,  indeed,  be  to  realize 
our  '  castles  in  the  air.' " 

"  Dear  Fleur-de-Marie,  your  wishes  are  realized — your  dream 
a  true  one." 


78  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  No,  no,  you  must  be  jesting ;  that  would  be  too  much  happi- 
ness to  expect,  or  even  dare  to  hope  for." 

"  Nay,  Fleur-de-Marie,  we  should  never  find  fault  with  an 
over-supply  of  happiness/' 

"  Ah,  M.  Bodolph,  for  pity's  sake  deceive  me  not ;  you  cannot 
believe  the  misery  I  should  experience  were  you  to  tell  me  all 
this  happiness  was  but  a  jest." 

"  My  child,  listen  to  me,"  said  Bodolph,  with  a  tone  and 
manner  which,  although  still  affectionate,  was  mingled  with  a 
dignified  accent  and  manner  Fleur-de-Marie  had  never  previously 
remarked  in  him.  "  I  repeat  that,  if  you  please,  you  may  from 
this  very  hour  lead  here,  with  Madame  Qeorges,  that  peaceful 
life  whose  description  but  a  short  time  since  so  much  delighted 
you.  Though  the  kind  lady  with  whom  you  will  reside  be  not 
your  aunt,  she  will  feel  for  you  the  most  lively  and  affectionate 
interest,  and  with  the  personages  about  the  farm  you  will  pass 
as  being  really  and  truly  her  niece,  and  this  innocent  deception 
will  render  your  residence  here  more  agreeable  and  advantageous. 
Once  more  I  repeat  to  you,  Fleur-de-Marie,  you  may  now  at 
your  own  pleasure  realize  the  dream  of  our  journey.  As  soon 
as  you  have  assumed  your  village  dress,"  said  Eodolph,  smilingly, 
"we  will  take  you  to  see  that  milk-white  heifer,  Musette,  who 
is  to  be  your  favorite  henceforward,  and  who  is  only  waiting  for 
the  pretty  collar  you  designed  to  ornament  her  with ;  then  we  will 
go  and  introduce  ourselves  to  your  pets,  the  pigeons,  afterwards 
visit  the  dairy,  and  so  go  on  till  we  have  been  all  over  the  farm. 
1  mean  to  keep  my  promise  in  every  respect,  I  assure  you." 

Fleur-de-Marie  pressed  her  hands  together  with  earnest 
gratitude, — surprise,  joy,  and  the  deepest  thankfulness,  mingled 
with  respect,  lit  up  her  beautiful  countenance,  while,  with  eyes 
streaming  with  tears,  she  exclaimed, — 

"  M.  Eodolph,  you  are,  you  must  be,  one  of  those  beneficent 
angels  sent  by  the  Almighty  to  do  good  upon  earth,  and  to 
rescue  poor  fallen  creatures,  like  myself,  from  shame  and 
misery." 

"  My  poor  girl,"  replied  Eodolph,  with  a  smile  of  deep  sadness 
and  ineffable  kindness,  "though  still  young,  I  have  already 
deeply  suffered.  I  lost  a  dear  child,  who,  if  living,  would  now 
be  about  your  age.  Let  that  explain  my  deep  sympathy  with 
all  who  suffer,  and  for  yourself  particularly,  Fleur-de-Marie, 
or,  rather  Marie  only.  Now,  go  with  Madame  Georges,  who  will 
show  you  the  pretty  chamber,  with  its  clustering  roses  and  honey- 
suckle to  form  your  morning  bouquets.  Yes,  Marie,  hencefor- 
ward let  that  name,  simple  and  sweet  as  yourself,  be  your  only 


MURPHY  AND  RODOLPH.  79 

appellation.  Before  my  departure  we  will  have  some  talk 
together,  and  then  I  shall  quit  you,  most  happy  in  the  knowledge 
of  your  full  contentment." 

Fleur-de-Marie,  without  one  word  of  reply,  gracefully  bent 
her  knee,  and,  before  Rodolph  could  prevent  her,  gently  and 
respectfully  raised  his  hand  to  her  lips;  then  rising  with  an  air 
of  modest  submission,  followed  Madame  Georges,  who  eyed  her 
with  a  profound  interest,  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTEK  XI. 

MURPHY  AND  EODOLPH. 

UPON  quitting  the  house,  Rodolph  bent  his  steps  towards  the 
farmyard,  where  he  found  the  individual  who,  the  preceding 
evening,  disguised  as  a  charcoal-man,  had  warned  him  of  the 
arrival  of  Tom  and  Sarah.  Murphy,  which  was  the  name  of  this 
personage,  was  about  fifty  years  of  age;  his  head,  nearly  bald, 
was  still  ornamented  with  a  fringe  of  light  brown  hair  at  each 
side,  which  the  hand  of  time  had  here  and  there  slightly  tinged 
with  gray;  his  face  was  broad,  open,  and  ruddy,  and  free  from 
all  appearance  of  hair,  except  very  short  whiskers,  of  a  reddish 
color,  only  reaching  as  low  as  the  tip  of  the  ear,  from  which  it 
diverged,  and  stretched  itself  in  a  gentle  curve  across  his 
rubicund  cheeks.  Spite  of  his  years  and  embonpoint,  Murphy 
was  active  and  athletic;  his  countenance,  though  somewhat 
phlegmatic,  was  expressive  of  great  resolution  and  kindliness  of 
nature;  he  wore  a  white  neck-handkerchief,  a  deep  waistcoat, 
and  a  long  black  coat,  with  very  wide  skirts ;  his  breeches,  of  an 
olive-green  color,  corresponded  in  material  with  the  gaiters 
which  protected  his  sturdy  legs,  without  reaching  entirely  to  the 
knee,  but  allowing  the  strings  belonging  to  his  upper  garment 
to  display  themselves  in  long  unstudied  bows ;  in  fact,  the  dress 
and  whole  iournure  of  Murphy  exactly  accorded  with  the  idea 
of  what  in  England  is  styled  a  "  gentleman  farmer."  Now,  the 
personage  we  are  describing,  though  an  English  squire,  was  no 
farmer.  At  the  moment  of  Rodolph's  appearance  in  the  yard, 
Murphy  was  in  the  act  of  depositing,  in  the  pocket  of  a  small 
traveling  caleche,  a  pair  of  small  pistols  he  had  just  been 
carefully  cleaning. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  going  to  do  with  those  pistols  ? " 
inquired  Rodolph. 


80  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  That  is  my  business,  my  lord,"  replied  Murphy,  descending 
the  carriage  steps;  "attend  to  your  affairs,  and  I  will  mind 
mine." 

"  At  what  o'clock  have  you  ordered  the  horses  ?  " 

"  According  to  your  directions — at  nightfall." 

"  You  got  here  this  morning,  I  suppose?  " 

"  I  did,  at  eight  o'clock.  Madame  Georges  has  had  ample  time 
to  make  all  the  preparations  you  desired." 

"  What  has  gone  wrong,  Murphy  ?  you  seem  completely  out  of 
humor.  Have  I  done  anything  to  offend  you  ?  " 

"  Can  you  not,  my  lord,  accomplish  your  self-imposed  task 
without  incurring  so  much  personal  risk  ? " 

"  Surely,  in  order  to  lull  all  suspicion  in  the  minds  of  the 
persons  I  seek  to  understand  and  fully  appreciate,  I  cannot  do 
better  than,  for  a  time,  to  adopt  their  garb,  their  language,  and 
their  customs." 

"  But  all  this  did  not  prevent  you,  my  lord,  last  night  (in  that 
abominable  place  where  we  went  to  unkennel  Bras  Rouge,  in 
hopes  of  getting  out  of  him  some  particulars  relative  to  that 
unhappy  son  of  Madame  Georges),  from  being  angry,  and  ready 
to  quarrel  with  me,  because  I  wished  to  aid  in  your  tussle  with 
the  rascal  you  encountered  in  that  horrid  cut-throat  alley." 

"  I  suppose,  then,  Murphy,  you  do  not  think  I  am  capable  of 
defending  myself,  and  you  either  doubt  my  courage  or  the 
strength  of  my  arm  ?  " 

"  Unfortunately,  you  have  given  me  too  many  reasons  to  form 
a  contrary  opinion  of  both.  Thank  God !  Flatman,  the  Bertrand 
of  Germany,  perfected  you  in  the  knowledge  of  fencing;  Tom 
Cribb  taught  you  to  box ;  Lacour,  of  Paris,  accomplished  you  in 
single-stick,  wrestling,  and  slang,  so  as  to  render  you  fully  pro- 
vided for  your  venturesome  excursions.  You  are  bold  as  a  lion, 
with  muscles  like  iron,  and,  though  so  slight  in  form,  I  should 
have  no  more  chance  with  you  than  a  dray-horse  would  against 
a  racer,  were  they  to  compete  with  each  other.  No  mistake 
about  that." 

"Then  what  are  you  afraid  of?" 

"Why,  I  maintain,  my  lord,  that  it  is  not  the  right  thing  for 
you  to  throw  yourself  in  the  way  of  all  these  blackguards.  I 
ido  not  say  that  because  of  the  nuisance  it  is  to  a  highly  re- 
spectable individual  of  my  acquaintance  to  blacken  his  face  with 
charcoal,  and  make  himself  look  like  a  devil.  No,  God  knows, 
spite  of  my  age,  my  figure,  and  my  gravity,  I  would  disguise  my- 
self as  a  rope-dancer,  if,  by  so  doing,  I  could  serve  vou.  But  I 
still  stick  to  what  I  say,  and " 


MURPUT  AND  RODOLPII.  81 

"  Oli !  I  know  all  you  would  say,  my  excellent  old  fellow,  and 
that  when  once  you  have  taken  an  idea  into  your  thick  skull,  the 
very  devil  himself  could  no  more  drive  it  out  of  you  than  he 
could,  by  all  his  arts,  remove  the  fidelity  and  devotion  implanted 
in  your  brave  and  valiant  heart/' 

"  Come,  come,  my  lord,  now  you  begin  to  flatter  me,  I  suspect 
you  are  up  to  some  fresh  mischief." 

"Think  no  such  thing,  Murphy;  give  yourself  no  uneasiness, 
but  leave  all  to  me/' 

"  My  lord,  I  cannot  be  easy ;  there  is  some  new  folly  in  hand, 
and  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  My  good  friend,  you  mean  well ;  but  you  are  choosing  a  very 
ill  hour  for  your  lectures ;  forbear,  I  beg." 

"  And  why,  my  lord,  can  you  not  listen  to  me  now,  as  well  as 
any  other  time  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  interfering  with  one  of  my  short-lived  mo- 
ments of  pride  and  happiness.  I  am  HERE,  in  this  dear  spot !  " 

"  Where  you  have  done  so  much  good.  I  know  it.  Your 
'  model  farm'  as  you  term  it,  built  by  you  to  instruct,  to  en- 
courage, and  to  reward  deserving  laborers,  has  been  of  incal- 
culable service  to  this  part  of  the  country.  Ordinary  men  think 
but  of  improving  their  cattle;  you,  more  wisely  and  benevolently, 
have  directed  your  exertions  for  the  bettering  your  fellow-creat- 
ures. Nothing  can  be  better;  and  when  you  placed  Madame 
Georges  at  the  head  of  the  establishment,  you  acted  with  the 
utmost  wisdom  and  provident  good  sense.  What  a  woman  she 
is !  No,  she  is  an  angel ! — so  good,  so  firm,  so  noble,  and  up- 
right !  I  am  not  easily  moved,  my  lord,  as  you  know ;  but  often 
have  I  felt  my  eyes  grow  moist,  as  her  many  trials  and  mis- 
fortunes rise  to  my  recollection.  But  about  your  new  protegee, 
however,  my  lord ;  if  you  please,  we  will  not  say  much  on  that 
subject.  ' The  least  said  is  soonest  mended/  as  the  old  proverb 
has  it." 

"Why  not,  Murphy?" 

"  My  lord,  you  will  do  what  you  think  proper." 

"  I  do  what  is  just,"  said  Rodolph,  with  an  air  of  impatience. 

"  What  is  just,  according  to  your  own  interpretation." 

"What  is 'just  before  God  and  my  own  conscience,"  replied 
Rodolph,  in  a  severe  tone. 

"  Well,  my  lord,  this  is  a  point  on  which  we  cannot  agree,  and 
therefore  let  us  speak  no  more  about  it." 

"  I  desire  you  will  continue  to  talk  about  it !  "  cried  Rodolph, 
imperiously. 

"  I  have  never  been  so  circumstanced  that  your  royal  highness 


82  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

should  have  to  bid  me  hold  my  tongue,  and  I  hope  I  shall  not 
now  be  ordered  to  speak  when  I  should  be  silent/'  said  Murphy, 
proudly. 

"  Mr.  Murphy !  "  said  Eodolph,  with  a  tone  of  increased  irrita- 
tion. 

"  My  lord  !  " 

"  You  know,  sir,  how  greatly  I  detest  anything  like  conceal- 
ment." 

"  Your  royal  highness  will  excuse  me,  but  it  suits  me  to  have 
certain  concealments,"  said  Murphy  bluntly. 

"  If  I  descend  to  familiarity  with  you,  sir,  it  is  on  condition 
that  you,  at  least,  act  with  entire  frankness  towards  me." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  extreme  hauteur  which  marked 
the  countenance  of  Eodolph  as  he  uttered  these  words. 

"  I  am  fifty  years  of  age,  I  am  a  gentleman,  and  your  royal 
highness  should  not  address  me  in  such  a  tone." 

"  Be  silent !  " 

"  My  lord  !  " 

"Be  silent!  I  say." 

"Your  royal  highness  does  wrong  in  compelling  a  man  of 
honor  and  feeling  to  recall  the  services  he  has  rendered  to  you," 
said  the  squire,  in  a  calm  tone. 

"  Have  I  not  repaid  those  services  in  a  thousand  ways  ?  " 

It  should  be  stated  that  Eodolph  had  not  attached  to  these 
bitter  words  the  humiliating  sense  which  could  place  Murphy  in 
the  light  of  a  mercenary;  but  such,  unfortunately,  was  the 
esquire's  interpretation  of  them.  He  became  purple  with  shame, 
lifted  his  two  clenched  hands  to  his  forehead  with  an  expression 
of  deep  grief  and  indignation,  and  then,  in  a  moment,  as  by  a 
sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  throwing  his  eyes  on  Eodolph,  whose 
noble  countenance  was  convulsed  by  the  violence  of  extreme  dis- 
dain, he  said,  in  a  faltering  voice,  and  stifling  a  sigh  of  the 
tenderest  pity,  "My  lord,  be  yourself;  you  surpass  the  bounds 
of  reason." 

These  words  impelled  Eodolph  to  the  very  height  of  irritation ; 
his  glance  had  even  a  savage  glare  in  it ;  his  lips  were  blanched ; 
and,  advancing  towards  Murphy  with  a  threatening  aspect,  he 
exclaimed,  "  Dare  you  ?  " 

Murphy  retreated,  and  said,  in  a  quick  tone,  and  as  if  in  spite 
of  himself,  "My  lord,  my  lord,  REMEMBER  THE  THIRTEENTH 

OF  JANUARY !  " 

These  words  produced  a  magical  effect  on  Eodolph.  His 
countenance,  contracted  by  anger,  now  expanded.  He  looked  at 
Murphy  steadfastly,  bowed  his  head,  and  then,  after  a  moment's 


MURPHY  AND  RODOLPH.  83 

silence,  murmured,  in  faltering  accents,  "  Ah !  sir,  you  are  now 
cruel,  indeed.  I  had  thought  that  my  repentance — my  deep 
remorse — and  yet  it  is  you — you " 

Rodolph  could  not  finish,  his  voice  was  stifled;  he  sunk,  sub- 
dued, on  a  stone  bench,  and  concealed  his  countenance  with  both 
his  hands. 

"  My  lord,"  said  Murphy,  in  deep  distress,  "  my  good  lord, 
forgive  me !  Forgive  your  old  and  faithful  Murphy.  It  was 
only  when  driven  to  an  extremity,  and  fearing,  alas !  not  for 
myself,  but  for  you,  the  consequences  of  your  passion,  that  I 
uttered  those  words.  I  said  them  in  spite  of  myself,  and  with 
sorrow.  My  lord,  I  was  wrong  to  be  so  sensitive.  Mon  Dieu! 
who  can  know  your  character,  your  feelings,  if  I  do  not, — I, 
who  have  never  'left  you  from  your  childhood !  Pray,  oh  !  pray 
say  that  you  forgive  me  for  having  called  to  your  recollection 
that  sad,  sad  day.  Alas!  what  expiations  have  you  not 
made " 

Rodolph  raised  his  head,  he  was  very  pale,  and  said  to  his 
companion,  in  a  gentle  and  saddened  voice.  "  Enough,  enough, 
my  old  friend;  I  thank  you  for  having,  by  one  word,  checked 
my  headlong  passion.  I  make  no  apologies  to  you  for  the  severe 
things  I  have  said ;  you  know  well  that '  it  is  a  long  way  from  the 
heart  to  the  lips'  as  the  good  people  at  home  say.  I  was  wrong; 
let  us  say  no  more  on  the  subject." 

"  Alas !  now  we  shall  be  out  of  spirits  for  a  long  time,  as  if 
I  were  not  sufficiently  unhappy !  I  only  wish  to  see  you  roused 
from  your  low  spirits,  and  yet  I  add  to  them  by  my  foolish 
tenaciousness.  Good  Heaven !  what's  the  use  of  being  an  honest 
man,  and  having  gray  hairs,  if  it  does  not  enable  us  to  endure 
reproaches  which  we  do  not  deserve  ?  " 

"  Be  it  so,  be  it  so ;  we  were  both  in  the  wrong,  my  good  old 
friend,"  said  Rodolph,  mildly;  "let  us  forget  it,  and  return 
to  our  former  conversation.  You  approved  entirely  of  my  es- 
tablishment of  this  farm,  and  the  deep  interest  I  have  always  felt 
in  Madame  Georges.  You  will  allow,  won't  you,  that  she  had 
merited  it  by  her  excellent  qualities,  her  misfortunes,  even  if 
she  did  not  belong  to  the  family  of  Harville, — a  family  to  which 
my  father  had  vowed  eternal  gratitude." 

"  I  have  always  approved  of  the  sentiments  which  your  lord- 
ship has  entertained  for  Madame  Georges." 

"  But  you  are  astonished  at  the  interest  I  take  in  this  poor 
girl,  are  you  not?" 

"  Pray,  pray,  my  lord,  I  was  wrong;  I  was  wrong." 

"  No,  I  can  imagine  that  appearances  have  deceived  you ;  but, 


84:  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

as  you  know  my  life — all  my  life,  and  as  you  aid  me  always  with 
as  much  fidelity  as  courage  in  my  self-inflicted  expiation,  it  is 
my  duty,  or,  if  you  like  the  phrase  better,  my  gratitude,  to  con- 
vince you  that  I  am  not  acting  from  a  frivolous  impulse." 

"  Of  that  I  am  sure,  my  lord." 

"  You  know  my  ideas  on  the  subject  of  the  good  which  a  man 
ought  to  do  who  has  the  knowledge,  the  will,  and  the  power. 
To  succor  unhappy,  but  deserving,  fellow-creatures  is  well;  to 
seek  after  those  who  are  struggling  against  misfortune  with 
energy  and  honor,  and  to  aid  them,  sometimes  without  their 
knowledge, — to  prevent,  in  right  time,  misery  and  temptation, 
is  better;  to  reinstate  such  perfectly  in  their  own  estimation, — 
to  lead  back  to  honesty  those  who  have  preserved  in  purity  some 
generous  and  ennobling  sentiments  in  the  midst  of  the  con- 
tempt that  withers  them,  the  misery  that  eats  into  them,  the 
corruption  that  encircles  them,  and,  for  that  end,  to  brave,  in 
person,  this  misery,  this  corruption,  this  contagion,  is  better 
still;  to  pursue,  with  unalterable  hatred,  with  implacable  venge- 
ance, vice,  infamy,  and  crime,  whether  they  be  trampling  in 
the  mud,  or  be  clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  that  is  justice; 
but  to  give  aid  inconsiderately  to  well-merited  degradation,  to 
prostitute  and  lavish  charity  and  commiseration,  by  bestowing 
help  on  unworthy  and  undeserving  objects,  is  most  infamous; 
it  is  impiety — very  sacrilege !  it  is  to  doubt  the  existence  of  the 
Almighty;  and  so,  he  who  acts  thus  ought  to  be  made  to  under- 
stand." 

"My  lord,  I  pray  you  do  not  think  that  I  would  for  a 
moment  assert  that  you  have  bestowed  your  benefits  unworth- 
ily." 

"  One  word  more,  my  old  friend.  You  know  well  that  the 
child  whose  death  I  daily  deplore, — that  that  daughter  whom 
I  should  have  loved  the  more,  as  her  unworthy  mother,  Sarah, 
had  shown  herself  so  utterly  indifferent  about  her, — would  now 
have  been  sixteen  years  of  age,  like  this  unhappy  girl.  You 
know,  too,  that  I  cannot  prevent  the  deep,  and  almost  painful, 
sympathy  I  feel  for  young  girls  of  that  age." 

"  True,  my  lord ;  and  I  ought  so  to  have  interpreted  the  in- 
terest you  evince  for  your  protegee.  Besides,  to  succor  the  un- 
fortunate is  to  honor  God." 

"  It  is,  my  friend,  when  the  objects  deserve  it ;  and  thus  noth- 
ing is  more  worthy  of  compassion  and  respect  than  a  woman 
like  Madame  Georges,  who,  brought  up  by  a  pious  and  good 
mother  in  the  strict  observance  of  all  her  duties,  has  never  failed 
— never!  and  has,  moreover,  courageously  borne  herself  in  the 


MURPHY  AND  RODOLPH.  g5 

midst  of  the  most  severe  trials.  But  is  it  not  to  honor  God  in 
the  most  acceptable  way,  to  raise  from  the  dust  one  of  those 
beings  of  the  finest  mold,  whom  He  has  been  pleased  to  endow 
richly  ?  Does  not  she  deserve  compassion  and  respect — yes, 
respect, — who,  unhappy  girl!  abandoned  to  her  own  instinct, — 
who,  tortured,  imprisoned,  degraded,  sullied,  has  yet  preserved, 
in  holiness  and  pureness  of  heart,  those  noble  germs  of  good  first 
implanted  by  the  Almighty?  If  you  had  but  seen,  poor  child! 
how,  at  the  first  word  of  interest  expressed  for  her — the  first 
mark  of  kindness  and  right  feeling — the  most  charming  natural 
impulses,  the  purest  tastes,  the  most  refined  thoughts,  the  most 
poetic  ideas,  developed  themselves  abundantly  in  her  ingenuous 
mind,  even  as,  in  the  early  spring,  a  thousand  wild  flowers  lift 
up  their  heads  at  the  first  rays  of  the  sun.  In  a  conversation  of 
about  an  hour  with  Fleur-de-Marie,  I  have  discovered  treasures 
of  goodness,  worth,  prudence — yes,  prudence,  old  Murphy.  A 
smile  came  to  my  lips,  and  a  tear  in  my  eye,  when,  in  her  gentle 
and  sensible  prattle,  she  urged  on  me  the  necessity  of  saving 
forty  sous  a-day,  that  I  might  be  beyond  want  or  evil  tempta- 
tions. Poor  little  creature !  she  said  all  this  with  so  serious  and 
persuasive  a  tone.  She  seemed  so  delighted  to  give  me  good 
advice,  and  experienced  so  extreme  a  pleasure  in  hearing  me 
promise  to  follow  it !  I  was  moved  even  to  tears, — and  you — it 
affects  you,  my  old  friend." 

"  It  does,  my  lord ;  the  idea  of  making  you  lay  by  forty  sous 
a  day,  thinking  you  a  workman,  instead  of  urging  you.  to  spend 
money  on  her;  that  does  touch  me." 

"  Hush !  here  are  Madame  Georges  and  Marie.  Get  all  ready 
for  our  departure ;  we  must  be  in  Paris  in  good  time." 

Thanks  to  the  care  of  Madame  Georges,  Fleur-de-Marie  was 
no  longer  like  her  former  self.  A  pretty  peasant's  cap,  and  two 
thick  braids  of  light  brown  hair,  encircled  her  charming  face. 
A  large  handkerchief  of  white  muslin  crossed  her  bosom,  and 
disappeared  under  the  high  fold  of  a  small  shot  taffetas  apron, 
whose  blue  and  red  shades  appeared  to  advantage  over  a  dark 
nun's  dress,  which  seemed  expressly  made  for  her.  The  young 
girl's  countenance  was  calm  and  composed.  Certain  feelings  of 
delight  produce  in  the  mind  an  unspeakable  sadness — a  holy 
melancholy.  Eodolph  was  not  surprised  at  the  gravity  of  Fleur- 
de-Marie,  he  had  expected  it.  Had  she  been  merry  and  talkative, 
she  would  not  have  retained  so  high  a  place  in  his  good  opinion. 
In  the  serious  and  resigned  countenance  of  Madame  Georges 
might  easily  be  traced  the  indelible  marks  of  long-suffering ;  but 
she  looked  at  Fleur-de-Marie  with  a  tenderness  and  compassion 


86  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

quite  maternal,  so  much  gentleness  and  sweetness  did  this  poor 
girl  evince. 

"  Here  is  my  child,  who  has  come  to  thank  you  for  your  good- 
ness, M.  Rodolph,"  said  Madame  Georges,  presenting  Goualeuse 
to  Rodolph. 

At  the  words,  "  my  child,"  Goualeuse  turned  her  large  eyes 
slowly  towards  her  protectress,  and  contemplated  her  for  some 
moments  with  a  look  of  unutterable  gratitude. 

"Thanks  for  Marie,  my  dear  Madame  Georges;  she  deserves 
this  kind  interest,  and  always  will  deserve  it." 

"  M.  Rodolph,"  said  Goualeuse,  with  a  trembling  voice,  "  you 
understand,  I  know,  I  feel  that  you  do,  that  I  cannot  find  any- 
thing to  say  to  you." 

"  Your  emotion  tells  me  all,  my  child." 

"  Oh !  she  feels  deeply  the  good  fortune  that  has  come  to  her 
so  providentially,"  said  Madame  Georges,  deeply  affected ;  "  her 
first  impulse  on  entering  my  room  was  to  prostrate  herself  be- 
fore my  crucifix." 

"  Because  now,  thanks  to  you,  M.  Rodolph,  I  dare  to  pray," 
said  Goualeuse. 

Murphy  turned  away  hastily ;  his  pretensions  to  firmness  would 
not  allow  of  any  one  seeing  to  what  extent  the  simple  words  of 
Goualeuse  had  touched  him. 

Rodolph  said  to  her,  "  My  child,  I  wish  to  have  some  conver- 
sation with  Madame  Georges.  My  friend  Murphy  will  lead 
you  over  the  farm,  and  introduce  you  to  your  future  proteges. 
We  will  join  you  presently.  Well,  Murphy,  Murphy,  don't  you 
hear  me  ?  " 

The  worthy  gentleman  turned  his  back,  and  pretended  to  blow 
his  nose  with  a  very  loud  noise,  then  put  his  handkerchief  in  his 
pocket,  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and,  turning  half  round, 
offered  his  arm  to  Marie,  managing  so  skilfully,  that  neither 
Rodolph  nor  Madame  Georges  could  see  his  face.  Taking  the 
arm  of  Marie,  he  walked  away  with  her  towards  the  farm-build- 
ings, and  so  quickly,  that,  to  keep  up  with  him,  Goualeuse  was 
obliged  to  run,  as  in  her  infant  days  she  ran  beside  the  Chouette. 

"  Well,  Madame  Georges,  what  do  you  think  of  Marie  ?  "  in- 
quired Rodolph. 

"  M.  Rodolph,  I  have  told  you :  she  had  scarcely  entered  my 
room,  when,  seeing  the  crucifix,  she  fell  on  her  knees  before  it. 
It  is  impossible  for  me  to  tell  you,  to  describe  the  spontaneous 
and  naturally  religious  feeling  that  evidently  dictated  this.  I 
saw  in  an  instant  that  hers  was  no  degraded  soul.  And  then, 
M.  Rodolph,  the  expression  of  her  gratitude  to  you  had  nothing 


MURPHY  AND  RODOLPH.  g7 

exaggerated  in  it ;  but  it  is  not  the  less  sincere.  And  I  have  an- 
other proof  of  how  natural  and  potent  is  this  religious  instinct 
in  her.  I  said  to  her,  '  You  must  have  been  much  astonished, 
and  very  happy,  when  M.  Rodolph  told  you  that  you  were  to  re- 
main here  for  the  future?  What  an  effect  it  must  have  had  on 
you ! '  '  Yes,  oh  !  yes/  was  her  reply ;  '  when  M.  Kodolph  told  me 
so,  I  cannot  describe  what  passed  within  me ;  but  I  felt  that  kind 
of  holy  happiness  which  I  experience  in  going  into  a  church. 

When  I  could  go  there/  she  added,  '  for  you  know,  Madame ' 

'  I  know,  my  child,  for  I  shall  always  call  you  my  child  (I  could 
not  let  her  go  on  when  I  saw  her  cover  her  face  for  shame),  I 
know  that  you  have  suffered  deeply;  but  God  blesses  those  who 
love  and  fear  Him,  those  who  have  been  unhappy,  and  those 
who  repent/  " 

"  Then,  my  good  Madame  Georges,  I  am  doubly  happy  at  what 
I  have  done.  This  poor  girl  will  greatly  interest  you,  her  dis- 
position is  so  excellent,  her  instincts  so  right." 

"  What  has  besides  affected  me,  M.  Eodolph,  is  that  she  has  not 
allowed  one  single  question  to  escape  her  about  you,  although 
her  curiosity  must  be  so  much  excited.  Struck  with  a  reserve 
so  full  of  delicacy,  I  wished  to  know  what  she  felt.  I  said  to 
her,  *  You  must  be  very  curious  to  know  who  your  mysterious 
benefactor  is?'  'Know  him!'  she  replied,  with  delightful  sim- 
plicity: 'he  is  my  benefactor/" 

"Then  you  will  love  her.  Excellent  woman!  she  will  find 
some  interest  in  your  heart." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  occupy  my  heart  with  her  as  I  should  with  him," 
said  Madame  Georges,  in  a  broken  voice. 

Kodolph  took  her  hand. 

"  Do  not  be  discouraged ;  come,  come,  if  our  search  has  been 
unsuccessful  so  far,  yet  one  day,  perhaps * 

Madame  Georges  shook  her  head  sorrowfully,  and  said, 
in  bitter  accents,  "My  poor  son  would  be  now  twenty  years 
old ! " 

"  Say  he  is  that  age " 

"  God  hear  you,  and  grant  it,  M.  Kodolph." 

"He  will  hear,  I  fully  believe.  Yesterday  I  went,  (but  in 
vain)  to  find  a  certain  fellow  called  Bras  Rouge,  who  might, 
perhaps,  have  given  me  some  information  about  your  son.  Com- 
ing away  from  this  Bras  Rouge's  abode,  after  a  struggle  in  which 
I  was  engaged,  I  met  with  this  unfortunate  girl " 

"  Alas !  but  your  kind  endeavor  in  my  behalf  has  thrown  in 
your  way  another  unfortunate  being,  M.  Rodolph." 

"You  have  no  intelligence  from  Rochfort?" 


88  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  None,"  said  Madame  Georges,  shuddering,  and  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  So  much  the  better !  We  can  no  longer  doubt  but  that  the 
monster  met  his  death  in  the  attempt  to  escape  from  the " 

Eodolph  hesitated  to  pronounce  the  horrible  word. 

"  From  the  Bagne?  Oh,  say  it! — the  Bagne! "  exclaimed  the 
wretched  woman  with  horror,  and  almost  frantic  as  she  spoke. 
"  The  father  of  my  child !  Ah !  if  the  unhappy  boy  still  lives 
— if,  like  me,  he  has  not  changed  his  name — oh,  shame !  shame ! 
And  yet  it  may  be  nothing:  his  father  has,  perhaps,  carried  out 
his  horrid  threat !  What  has  he  done  with  my  boy  ?  Why  did 
he  tear  him  from  me  ?  " 

"  That  mystery  I  cannot  fathom,"  said  Eodolph,  with  a 
pensive  air.  "  What  could  induce  the  wretch  to  carry  off  your 
son  fifteen  years  ago,  and  when  he  was  trying  to  escape  into  a 
foreign  land?  A  child  of  that  age  could  only  embarrass  his 
flight." 

"Alas,  M.  Eodolph!  when  my  husband"  (the  poor  woman 
shuddered  as  she  pronounced  the  word)  "  was  arrested  on  the 
frontier  and  thrown  into  prison,  where  I  was  allowed  to  visit 
him,  he  said  to  me  these  horrible  words :  "  I  took  away  the  brat 
because  you  were  fond  of  him,  and  it  will  be  a  means  of  com- 
pelling you  to  send  me  money,  which  may  or  may  not  be  of  serv- 
ice to  him — that's  my  affair.  Whether  he  lives  or  dies  it  is  no 
matter  to  you;  but  if  he  lives,  he  will  be  in  good  hands:  you 
shall  drink  as  deep  of  the  shame  of  the  son  as  you  have  of  the 
disgrace  of  the  father ! '  Alas !  a  month  afterwards  my  husband 
was  condemned  to  the  galleys  for  life;  and  since  then  all  my 
entreaties,  my  prayers  and  letters,  have  been  in  vain.  I  have 
never  been  able  to  learn  the  fate  of  my  boy.  Ah,  M.  Eodolph ! 
where  is  my  child  at  this  moment?  These  frightful  words  are 
always  ringing  in  my  ears,  '  You  shall  drink  as  deep  of 
the  shame  of  the  son  as  you  have  of  the  disgrace  of  the 
father!'" 

"  This  atrocity  is  most  inexplicable :  why  should  he  demoralize 
the  unhappy  child?  why  carry  him  off?" 

"  I  have  told  you,  M.  Eodolph — to  compel  me  to  send  him 
money :  although  he  had  nearly  ruined  me,  yet  I  had  still  some 
small  resources,  but  they  at  length  were  exhausted  also.  In  spite 
of  his  wickedness,  I  could  not  believe  but  that  he  would  employ, 
at  least,  a  portion  of  this  money  in  the  bringing-up  of  this 
unhappy  child." 

"  And  your  son  had  no  sign,  no  mark,  by  which  he  could  be 
recognized  ?  " 


MURPHY  AND  RODOLPIL  89 

"  No  other  than  that  of  which  I  have  spoken  to  you,  M. 
Rodolph — a  small  Saint-Esprit,  sculptured  in  lapis  lazuli,  tied 
round  his  neck  by  a  chain  of  silver:  a  sacred  relic,  blessed  by 
the  holy  father." 

"  Courage,  courage ;  God  is  all-powerful." 

"  Providence  placed  me  in  your  path,  M.  Rodolph." 

"Too  late,  Madame  Georges;  too  late.  I  might  have  saved 
you  many  years  of  sorrow." 

'*  Ah,  M.  Rodolph,  how  kind  you  have  been  to  me ! " 

"  In  what  way  ?  I  bought  this  farm ;  in  time  of  your  pros- 
perity you  were  not  idle,  and  now  you  have  become  my  manager 
here,  where — thanks  to  your  excellent  superintendence,  intelli- 
gence, and  activity — this  establishment  produces  me " 

"  Produces  you,  my  lord  ?  "  said  Madame  Georgen,  interrupt- 
ing Rodolph ;  "  why,  all  the  returns  are  employed,  not  only  in 
ameliorating  the  condition  of  the  laborers,  who  consider  the  oc- 
cupation on  this  model  farm  as  a  great  favor,  but,  moreover,  to 
succor  all  the  needy  in  the  district;  through  the  mediation  of 
our  good  Abbe  Laporte " 

"  Ah,  the  dear  abbe !  "  said  Rodolph,  desirous  of  escaping  the 
praise  of  Madame  Georges;  "have  you  had  the  kindness  to  in- 
form him  of  my  arrival?  I  wish  to  recommend  my  protegee  to 
him.  He  has  had  my  letter?" 

"  Mr.  Murphy  gave  it  to  him  when  he  came  this  morning." 

"  In  that  letter  I  told  our  good  cure,  in  a  few  words,  the  his- 
tory of  this  poor  girl.  I  was  not  sure  that  I  should  be  able  to 
come  to-day  myself,  and  if  not,  then  Murphy  would  have  con- 
ducted Marie " 

A  laborer  of  the  farm  interrupted  this  conversation,  which  had 
been  carried  on  in  the  garden. 

"  Madame,  M.  le  Cure  is  waiting  for  you." 

"  Are  the  post  horses  arrived,  my  lad  ?  "  inquired  Rodolph. 

"  Yes,  M.  Rodolph ;  and  they  are  putting  to."  And  the  man 
left  the  garden. 

Madame  Georges,  the  cure  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  farm, 
only  knew  Fleur-de-Marie's  protector  as  M.  Rodolph.  Murphy's 
discretion  was  faultless;  and  although  when  in  private  he  was 
very  precise  in  '  my-lording '  Rodolph,  yet  before  strangers  he 
was  very  careful  not  to  address  him  otherwise  than  as  Monsieur 
Rodolpli. 

"  I  forgot  to  mention,  my  dear  Madame  Georges,"  said  Ro- 
dolph, when  he  returned  to  the  house,  "  that  Marie  has,  I  fear, 
very  weak  lungs — privations  and  misery  have  tried  her  health. 
This  morning  early  I  was  struck  with  the  pallor  of  her  coun- 


90  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

tenance,  although  her  cheeks  were  of  a  deep  rose  color ;  her  eyes, 
too,  seem  to  me  to  have  a  brilliancy  which  betokens  a  feverish 
system.  Great  care  must  be  taken  of  her." 

"  Eely  on  me,  M.  Eodolph ;  but,  thank  God !  there  is  nothing 
serious  to  apprehend.  At  her  age,  in  the  country,  with  pure 
air,  rest,  and  quiet,  she  will  soon  be  quite  restored." 

"  I  hope  so ;  but  I  will  not  trust  to  your  country  doctors.  I 
will  desire  Murphy  to  bring  here  my  medical  man — a  negro — 
a  very  skilful  person,  who  will  tell  you  the  best  regimen  to 
pursue.  You  must  send  me  news  of  Marie  very  often.  Some 
time  hence,  when  she  shall  be  better,  and  more  at  ease,  we  will 
talk  about  her  future  life;  perhaps  it  would  be  best  that  she  al- 
ways remained  with  you,  if  you  were  pleased  with  her." 

"I  should  like  it  greatly,  M.  Rodolph;  she  would  supply  the 
place  of  the  child  I  have  lost,  and  must  forever  bewail." 

"  Let  us  still  hope  for  you  and  for  her." 

At  the  moment  when  Rodolph  and  Madame  Georges  ap- 
proached the  farm,  Murphy  and  Marie  also  entered.  The  worthy 
gentleman  let  go  the  arm  of  Goualeuse,  and  said  to  Rodolph  in 
a  low  voice,  and  with  an  air  of  some  confusion, — 

"  This  girl  has  bewitched  me ;  I  really  do  not  know  which  in- 
terests me  most,  she  or  Madame  Georges.  I  was  a  brute — a 
beast!" 

"I  knew,  old  Murphy,  that  you  would  do  justice  to  my 
protegee"  said  Rodolph,  smiling,  and  shaking  hands  with  the 
squire. 

Madame  Georges,  leaning  on  Marie's  arm,  entered  with  her 
into  a  small  room  on  the  ground-floor,  where  the  Abbe  Laporte 
was  waiting.  Murphy  went  away,  to  see  all  ready  for  their  de- 
parture. Madame  Georges,  Marie,  Rodolph,  and  the  Cure,  re- 
mained together. 

Plain,  but  very  comfortable,  this  small  apartment  was  fitted 
up  with  green  hangings,  like  the  rest  of  the  house,  as  had  been 
exactly  described  to  Goualeuse  by  Rodolph.  A  thick  carpet  cov- 
ered the  floor,  a  good  fire  burnt  in  the  grate,  and  two  large  nose- 
gays of  daisies  of  all  colors,  placed  in  two  crystal  vases,  shed  their 
agreeable  odor  throughout  the  room.  Through  the  windows, 
with  their  green  blinds,  which  were  half  opened,  was  to  be  seen 
the  meadow,  the  little  stream,  and,  beyond  it,  the  bank  planted 
with  chestnut-trees. 

The  Abbe  Laporte,  who  was  seated  near  the  fireplace,  was  up- 
wards of  eighty  years  of  age,  and  had,  ever  since  the  last  days 
of  the  Revolution,  done  duty  in  this  small  parish.  Nothing  can 
be  imagined  more  venerable  than  his  aged,  withered,  and  some- 


MURPHY  AND  RODOLPH.  91 

what  melancholy  countenance,  shaded  by  long  white  locks,  which 
fell  on  the  collar  of  his  black  cassock,  which  was  pieced  in  more 
places  than  one:  the  abbe  liked  better,  as  they  said,  to  clothe 
one  or  two  poor  children  in  good  warm  broadcloth,  than  faire  le 
muguet;  that  is,  to  wear  his  cassocks  less  than  two  or  three 
years.  The  good  abbe  was  so  old,  so  very  old,  that  his  hands 
trembled  continually,  and  when  he  occasionally  lifted  them  up, 
when  speaking,  it  might  have  been  supposed  that  he  was  giving 
a  benediction. 

" Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  said  Bodolph,  respectfully,  "Madame 
Georges  has  undertaken  the  guardianship  of  this  young  girl, 
for  whom  I  also  beg  your  kindness." 

"  She  is  entitled  to  it,  sir,  like  all  who  come  to  us.  The  mercy 
of  God  is  inexhaustible,  my  dear  child,  and  He  has  evinced  it  in 
not  abandoning  you  in  most  severe  trials. — I  know  all."  And 
he  took  the  hand  of  Marie  in  his  own  withered  and  trembling 
palms.  "  The  generous  man  who  has  saved  you  has  realized  the 
words  of  Holy  Writ,  '  The  Lord  is  near  to  all  those  who  call 
upon  Him :  He  will  fulfil  the  desire  of  those  who  fear  Him :  He 
will  hear  their  cries,  and  He  will  save  them/  Now  deserve  his 
bounty  by  your  conduct,  and  you  will  always  find  one  ready  to 
encourage  and  sustain  you  in  the  good  path  on  which  you  have 
entered.  You  will  have  in  Madame  Georalfe  a  constant  example, 
in  me  a  careful  adviser.  The  Lord  will  Jlnisn  His  work." 

"  And  I  will  pray  to  Him  for  those  who  have  had  compassion 
on  me  and  have  led  me  to  Him,  father,"  said  La  Goualeuse, 
throwing  herself  on  her  knees  before  the  priest.  Her  emotion 
overcame  her:  her  sobs  almost  choked  her.  Madame  Georges, 
Eodolph,  and  the  abbe,  were  all  deeply  affected. 

"  Rise,  my  dear  child,"  said  the  cure ;  "  you  will  soon  deserve 
absolution  from  those  serious  faults  of  which  you  have  rather 
been  the  victim  than  the  cruwinal :  for,  in  the  words  of  the 
prophet, '  The  Lord  raises  up  an  those  who  are  ready  to  fall,  and 
elevates  those  who  are  oppressed.' " 

Murphy,  at  this  moment,  opened  the  door. 

"Monsieur  Eodolph,"  he  said,  "the  horses  are  ready." 

"Adieu,  father!  adieu,  Madame  Georges!  I  commend  your 
child  to  your  care — our  child,  I  should  say.  Farewell,  Marie; 
I  will  soon  come  and  see  you  again." 

The  venerable  pastor,  leaning  on  the  arms  of  Madame  Georges 
and  La  Goualeuse,  who  supported  his  tottering  steps,  left  the 
room  to  see  Eodolph  depart. 

The  last  rays  of  the  sun  shed  their  light  on  this  interesting 
yet  sad  group : — 


92  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS.       ' 

An  old  priest,  the  symbol  of  charity,  pardon,  and  everlasting 
hope ; 

A  female,  overwhelmed  by  every  grief  that  can  distress  a  wife 
and  mother; 

A  young  girl,  hardly  out  of  her  infancy,  and  but  recently 
thrown  into  an  abyss  of  vice  through  misery  and  the  close  contact 
with  crime. 

Rodolph  got  into  the  carriage,  Murphy  took  his  place  by  his 
side,  and  the  horses  set  off  at  speed. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THE  RENDEZVOUS. 

THE  day  after  he  had  confided  the  Goualeuse  to  the  care  of 
Madame  Georges,  Rodolph,  still  dressed  as  a  mechanic,  was,  at 
noon  precisely,  at  the  door  of  a  cabaret  with  the  sign  of  the 
Panier-Fleuri,  not  far  from  the  barrier  of  Bercy. 

The  evening  before,  at  ten  o'clock,  the  Chourineur  was  punc- 
tual to  the  appointment  which  Rodolph  had  fixed  with  him. 
The  result  of  this  naft-ative  will  inform  our  readers  of  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  meeting^  It  was  twelve  o'clock,  and  the  rain  fell 
in  torrents;  the  Seine,  swollen  by  perpetual  falls  of  rain,  had 
risen  very  high,  and  overflowed  a  part  of  the  quay.  Rodolph 
looked  from  time  to  time,  with  a  gesture  of  impatience,  towards 
the  barrier,  and  at  last  observed  a  man  and  woman,  who  were 
coming  towards  him  under  the  shelter  of  an  umbrella,  and  whom 
he  recognized  as  the  Chouette  and  the  Schoolmaster. 

These  two  individuals  were  completely  metamorphosed:  the 
ruffian  had  laid  aside  his  ragged  varments  and  his  air  of  brutal 
ferocity.  He  wore  a  long  frock-cfbt  of  green  cloth,  and  a  round 
hat ;  whilst  his  shirt  and  cravat  were  remarkable  for  their  white- 
ness. But  for  the  hideousness  of  his  features  and  the  fierce 
glance  of  his  eyes,  always  restless  and  suspicious,  this  fellow 
might  have  been  taken,  by  his  quiet  and  steady  step,  for  an 
honest  citizen. 

The  Chouette  was  also  in  her  Sunday  costume,  wearing  a  large 
shawl  of  fine  wool,  with  a  large  pattern,  and  held  in  her  hand 
a  capacious  basket. 

The  rain  having  ceased  for  the  moment,  Rodolph,  overcoming 
a  sensation  of  disgust,  went  to  meet  the  frightful  pair.  For  the 
slang  of  the  tapis-franc  the  Schoolmaster  now  substituted  a  style 


TUB  RENDEZVOUS.  93 

almost  polished,  and  which  betokened  a  cultivated  mind,  in 
strange  contrast  with  his  real  character  and  crimes.  When 
Rodolph  approached,  the  brigand  made  him  a  polite  bow,  and 
the  Chouette  curtsied  respectfully. 

"  Sir,  your  humble  servant,"  said  the  Schoolmaster.  "  I  am 
delighted  to  pay  my  respects  to  you — delighted — or,  rather,  to 
renew  our  acquaintance;  for  the  night  before  last  you  paid  me 
two  blows  of  the  fist  which  were  enough  to  have  felled  a 
rhinoceros.  But  not  a  word  of  that  now ;  it  was  a  joke  on  your 
part,  I  am  sure — merely  done  in  jest.  Let  us  not  say  another 
word  about  it,  for  serious  business  brings  us  now  together.  I 
saw  the  Chourineur  yesterday,  about  eleven  o'clock,  at  the 
tapis-franc,  and  appointed  to  meet  him  here  to-day,  in  case 
he  chose  to  join  us — to  be  our  fellow-laborer;  but  it  seems  that 
he  most  decidedly  refuses." 

"  You,  then,  accept  the  proposal  ?  " 

"  Your  name,  sir,  if  you  will  be  so  good  ?  " 

"  Rodolph." 

"M.  Rodolph,  we  will  go  into  the  Panier-Fleuri — neither 
myself  nor  Madame  has  breakfasted — and  we  will  talk  over  our 
little  matters  whilst  we  are  taking  a  crust." 

"  Most  willingly." 

"  We  can  talk  as  we  go  on.  You  and  the  Chourineur  certainly 
do  owe  some  satisfaction  to  my  wife;  and  myself — you  have 
caused  us  to  lose  more  than  two  thousand  francs.  Chouette  had 
a  meeting  near  Saint-Ouen  with  the  tall  gentleman  in  mourning, 
who  came  to  ask  for  you  at  the  tapis-franc.  He  offered  us  two 
thousand  francs  to  do  something  to  you.  The  Chourineur  has 
told  me  all  about  this.  But,  Finette,"  said  the  fellow,  "  go  and 
select  a  room  at  the  Panier-Fleuri,  and  order  breakfast — some 
cutlets,  a  piece  of  veal,  a  salad,  and  a  couple  of  bottles  of  vin  de 
beaune — the  best  quality,  and  we  will  join  you  there." 

The  Chouette,  who  had  ndl  taken  her  eye  off  Rodolph  for  a 
moment,  went  off  after  exchanging  looks  with  the  Schoolmaster, 
who  then  said: 

"  I  say,  M.  Rodolph,  that  the  Chourineur  has  edified  me  on  the 
subject  of  the  two  thousand  francs/*7 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  edified  you  ?  " 

"  You  are  right — the  language  is  a  little  too  refined  for  you. 
I  would  say,  that  the  Chourineur  nearly  told  me  all  that  the 
tall  gentleman  in  mourning,  with  his  two  thousand  francs, 
required." 

«  Good." 

"  Not  so  good,  young  man ;  for  the  Chourineur,  having  yester- 


94:  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

day  morning  met  the  Chouette,  near  Saint-Ouen,  did  not  leave 
her  for  one  moment,  when  the  tall  gentleman  in  mourning  came 
up,  so  that  he  could  not  approach  and  converse  with  her.  You, 
then,  ought  to  put  us  in  the  way  of  regaining  our  two  thousand 
francs." 

"  Nothing  easier :  but  let  us  *  hark  back/  I  had  proposed  a 
glorious  job  to  the  Chourineur,  which  he  at  first  accepted,  but 
afterwards  refused  to  go  on  with." 

"  He  always  has  very  peculiar  ideas." 

"  But  whilst  he  refused  he  observed  to  me " 

"  He  made  you  observe " 

"Oh,  didble!  you  are  very  grand  with  your  grammar." 

"  It  is  my  profession,  as  a  schoolmaster." 

"  He  made  me,  then,  observe,  that  if  he  would  not  go  on  this 
'  lay/  he  did  not  desire  to  discourage  any  other  person,  and  that 
you  would  willingly  lend  a  hand  in  the  affair." 

"  May  I,  without  impertinence,  ask  why  you  appointed  a 
meeting  with  the  Chourineur  at  Saint-Ouen  yesterday,  which 
gave  him  the  advantage  of  meeting  the  Chouette?  He  was  too 
much  puzzled  at  my  question  to  give  me  a  clear  answer." 

Rodolph  bit  his  lips  imperceptibly,  and  replied,  shrugging  his 
shoulders, 

"  Very  likely ;  for  I  only  told  him  half  my  plan,  you  must 
know,  not  knowing  if  he  had  made  up  his  mind." 

"  That  was  very  proper." 

"  The  more  so  as  I  had  two  strings  to  my  bow." 

"  You  are  a  careful  man.  You  met  the  Chourineur,  then,  at 
Saint-Ouen,  for " 

Rodolph,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  had  the  good  luck  to 
think  of  a  story  which  would  account  for  the  want  of  address 
which  the  Chourineur  had  displayed,  and  said: 

"  Why,  this  it  is.  The  attempt  I  propose  is  a  famous  one, 
because  the  person  in  question  it  in  the  country:  all  my  fear 
was  that  he  should  return  to  Paris.  To  make  sure,  I  went  to 
Pierrefitte,  where  his  country-house  is  situated,  and  there  I 
learned  that  he  would  not  be  back  again  until  the  day  after 
to-morrow." 

"  Well,  but  to  return  to  my  question :  why  did  you  appoint  to 
meet  the  Chourineur  at  Saint-Ouen  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  are  not  so  bright  as  I  took  you  for.  How  far  is  it 
from  Pierrefitte  to  Saint-Ouen  ?  " 

"About  a  league." 

"  And  from  Saint-Ouen  to  Paris  ?  " 

"As  much." 


THE  RENDEZ  VO  US.  95 

"  Well,  if  I  had  jpt  found  any  one  at  Pierrefitte— that  is,  if 
there  had  been  an  empty  house  there — why,  there  also  would  have 
been  a  good  job:  not  so  good  as  in  Paris,  but  still  well  worth 
having.  I  went  back  to  the  Chourineur,  who  was  waiting  for 
me  at  Saint-Ouen.  We  should  have  returned  then  to  Pierrefitte, 
by  a  cross-path  which  I  know,  and " 

"  I  understand.  If,  on  the  contrary,  the  job  was  to  be  done  in 
Paris  ?" 

"We  should  have  gained  the  barrier  de  FEtoile  by  the  road 
of  the  Kivolte,  and  thence  to  the  Alice  des  Veuves " 

"  Is  but  a  step :  this  is  plain  enough.  At  Saint-Ouen  you  were 
well  placed  for  either  operation — that  was  clear;  and  now  I 
can  understand  why  the  Chourineur  was  at  Saint-Ouen.  So  the 
house  in  the  Allee  des  Veuves  will  be  uninhabited  until  the  day 
after  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Uninhabited,  except  the  porter." 

"  I  see.     And  is  it  a  profitable  job  ?  " 

"  Sixty  thousand  francs  in  gold  in  the  proprietor's  cabinet." 

"  And  you  know  all  the  ways  ?  " 

"Perfectly." 

"  Silence — here  we  are — not  a  word  before  the  vulgar.  I  do 
not  know  if  you  feel  as  I  do,  but  the  morning  air  has  given  me  an 
appetite." 

The  Chouette  was  awaiting  them  at  the  door. 

"  This  way — this  way,"  she  said.  "  I  have  ordered  our  break- 
fast." 

Rodolph  wished  the  brigand  to  pass  in  first,  for  certain 
reasons;  but  the  Schoolmaster  insisted  on  showing  so  much 
politeness,  that  Rodolph  entered  before  him.  Before  he  sat 
down,  the  Schoolmaster  tapped  lightly  against  each  of  the 
divisions  of  the  wainscot,  that  he  might  ascertain  their  thickness 
and  power  of  transmitting  sounds. 

"  We  need  not  be  afraid  to  speak  out,"  said  he ;  "  the  division 
is  not  thin.  We  shall  have  our  breakfast  soon,  and  shall  not 
be  disturbed  in  our  conversation." 

A  waiter  brought  in  the  breakfast,  and  before  he  shut  the 
door  Rodolph  saw  the  charcoal-man,  Murphy,  seated  with  great 
composure  at  a  table  in  a  room  close  at  hand. 

The  room  in  which  the  scene  took  place  that  we  are  describing 
was  long  and  narrow,  lighted  by  one  window,  which  looked  into 
the  street,  and  was  opposite  to  the  door.  The  Chouette  turned 
her  back  to  this  window,  whilst  the  Schoolmaster  was  at  one 
side  of  the  table,  and  Rodolph  on  the  other. 

When  the  servant  left  the  room,  the  brigand  got  up,  took 


96  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

his  plate,  and  seated  himself  beside  Rodolph  and  between  him 
and  the  door. 

"  We  can  talk  better,"  he  said,  "  and  need  not  talk  so  loud." 

"  And  then  you  can  prevent  me  from  going  out,""  replied 
Rodolph,  calmly. 

The  Schoolmaster  gave  a  nod  in  the  affirmative,  and  then, 
half  drawing  out  of  the  pocket  of  his  frock-coat  a  stiletto,  round 
and  as  thick  as  a  goose's  quill,  with  a  handle  of  wood  which 
disappeared  in  the  grasp  of  his  hairy  fingers,  said : 

"You  see  that?" 

"I  do." 

"  Advice  to  amateurs ! "  And  bringing  his  shaggy  brows 
together,  by  a  frown  which  made  his  wide  and  fiat  forehead 
closely  resemble  a  tiger's,  he  made  a  significant  gesture. 

"  And  you  may  believe  me,"  added  the  Chouette,  "  I  have 
made  the  tool  sharp." 

Rodolph,  with  perfect  coolness,  put  his  hand  under  his  blouse, 
and  took  out  a  double-barreled  pistol,  which  he  showed  to  the 
Schoolmaster,  and  then  put  into  his  pocket. 

"  All  right ;  and  now  we  understand  each  other :  but  do  not 
misunderstand  me — I  am  only  alluding  to  an  impossibility.  If 
they  try  to  arrest  me,  and  you  have  laid  any  trap  for  me,  I  will 
make  '  cold  meat '  of  you." 

And  he  gave  a  fierce  look  at  Rodolph. 

"  And  I  will  spring  upon  him  and  help  you,  fourline,"  cried 
the  Chouette. 

Rodolph  made  no  reply,  but  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and, 
pouring  out  a  glass  of  wine,  tossed  it  off.  His  coolness  deceived 
the  Schoolmaster. 

"  I  only  put  you  on  your  guard." 

"  Well,  then,  put  up  your  *  larding-pin '  into  your  pocket :  you 
have  no  chicken  to  lard  now.  I  am  an  old  cock,  and  know  my 
game  as  well  as  most,"  said  Rodolph.  "  But,  to  our  business." 

"  Yes,  let  us  talk  of  business :  but  do  not  speak  against  my 
'  larding-pin ;'  it  makes  no  noise,  and  does  not  disturb  any- 
body." 

"  And  does  its  work  as  should  be :  doesn't  it,  fourline  ?  "  added 
the  old  beldam. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Rodolph  to  the  Chouette,  "  do  you  really 
know  the  Goualeuse's  parents  ?  " 

"  My  man  has  in  his  pocket  two  letters  about  it,  but  she  shall 
never  see  them — the  little  slut !  I  would  rather  tear  her  eyes 
out  with  my  own  hands.  Oh !  when  I  meet  her  again  at  the 
tapis-franc,  won't  I  pay  her  off " 


THE  RENDEZ  VO  US.  97 

"  There,  that'll  do,  Finette ;  we  have  other  things  to  talk  of, 
and  so  leave  oft'  your  gossip." 

"  May  we  *  patter  '  before  the  *  mot  ?  '  "  asked  Eodolph. 

"  Most  decidedly !  She's  true  as  steel,  and  is  worth  her  weight 
in  gold  to  watch  for  us — to  get  information  or  impressions  of 
keys,  to  conceal  stolen  goods  or  sell  them, — nothing  comes  amiss 
to  her.  She  is  a  first-rate  manager.  Good  Finette ! "  added 
the  robber,  extending  his  hand  to  the  horrid  hag.  "  You  can 
have  no  idea  of  the  services  she  has  done  me.  Take  off  your 
shawl,  Finette,  or  you'll  be  cold  when  you  go  out :  put  it  on  the 
chair  with  your  basket." 

The  Chouette  took  off  her  shawl. 

In  spite  of  his  presence  of  mind,  and  the  command  which  he 
had  over  himself,  Rodolph  could  not  quite  conceal  his  surprise 
when  he  saw  suspended  by  a  ring  of  silver,  from  a  thick  chain 
of  metal  which  hung  round  the  old  creature's  neck,  a  small 
Saint-Esprit  in  lapis  lazuli,  precisely  resembling  that  which  the 
son  of  Madame  Georges  had  round  his  neck  when  he  was  carried 
off. 

At  this  discovery,  a  sudden  idea  flashed  across  the  mind  of 
Eodolph.  According  to  the  Chourineur's  statement,  the  School- 
master had  escaped  from  the  Bagne  six  months  ago,  and  had 
since  defied  all  search  after  him  by  disfiguring  himself  as  he 
had  now;  and  six  months  ago  the  husband  of  Madame  Georges 
had  disappeared  from  the  Bagne.  Rodolph  surmised  that,  very 
possibly,  the  Schoolmaster  was  the  husband  of  that  unhappy 
lady.  If  this  were  so,  he  knew  the  fate  of  the  son  she  lamented 
— he  possessed,  too,  some  papers  relative  to  the  birth  of  the 
Goualeuse.  Rodolph  had,  then,  fresh  motives  for  persevering 
in  his  projects,  and,  fortunately,  his  absence  of  mind  was  not 
observed  by  the  Schoolmaster,  who  was  busy  helping  the 
Chouette. 

" Morbleu!  what  a  pretty  chain  you  have!"  said  Rodolph  to 
the  one-eyed  woman. 

"  Pretty,  and  not  dear,"  answered  the  old  creature,  laughing. 
"  It  is  only  a  sham  till  my  man  can  afford  to  give  me  a  real 
one." 

"  That  will  depend  on  this  gentleman,  Finette.  If  our  job 
comes  off  well,  why  then " 

"  It  is  astonishing  how  well  it  is  imitated,"  continued  Rodolph. 
"  And  what  is  that  little  blue  thing  at  the  end  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  present  from  my  man,  which  I  shall  wear  until  he 
give?  me  a  ticker.  Isn't  it,  fourline?" 

Rodolph's    suspicions    were    thus    half    confirmed,    and    he 


98  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARTS. 

waited  with  anxiety  for  the  reply  of  the  Schoolmaster,  who 
said: 

"  You  must  take  care  of  that,  notwithstanding  the  ticker, 
Finette :  it  is  a  talisman,  and  brings  good  luck." 

"  A  talisman ! "  said  Rodolph,  in  a  careless  tone :  "  do  you 
believe  in  talismans?  And  where  the  devil  did  you  pick  it  up? 
Give  me  the  address  of  the  shop." 

"  They  do  not  make  them  now — the  shop  is  shut  up.  As  you 
see  it,  that  bit  of  jewelry  has  a  very  great  antiquity — three 
generations.  I  value  it  highly,  for  it  is  a  family  loom,"  added 
he,  with  a  hideous  grin ;  "  and  that's  why  I  gave  it  to  Finette, 
that  she  might  have  good  fortune  in  the  enterprises  in  which  she 
so  skilfully  seconds  me.  Only  see  her  at  work ! — only  see  her ! 

If  we  go  into  business  together,  why But  let  us  now  to 

our  affair  in  hand.  You  say,  that  in  the  Allee  des  Veuves " 

"  At  No.  17  there  is  a  house  inhabited  by  a  rich  man,  whose 
name  is " 

"  I  will  not  be  guilty  of  the  indiscretion  of  asking  his  name. 
You  say  there  are  sixty  thousand  francs  in  gold  in  a  cabinet  ?  " 

"  Sixty  thousand  francs  in  gold !  "  exclaimed  the  Chouette. 

Eodolph  nodded  his  head  in  the  affirmative. 

"  And  you  know  this  house,  and  the  people  in  it  ?  "  said  the 
Schoolmaster. 

"  Quite  well." 

"Is  the  entry  difficult?" 

"  A  wall  seven  feet  high  on  the  side  of  the  Allee  des  Veuves, 
a  garden,  windows  down  to  the  ground,  and  the  house  has  only 
the  ground-floor  throughout." 

"  And  there  is  only  the  porter  to  guard  this  treasure  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  what,  young  man,  is  your  proposed  plan  of  preceding  ?  " 

"  Simple  enough :  to  climb  over  the  wall,  pick  the  lock  of 
the  door,  or  force  open  a  shutter  or  lock.  What  do  you  think 
of  it?" 

"  I  cannot  answer  you  before  I  have  examined  it  all  myself — 
that  is,  by  the  aid  of  my  wife :  but,  if  all  you  tell  me  is  as  you 
say,  I  think  it  would  be  the  thing  to  do  it  at  once  this  evening." 

And  the  ruffian  looked  earnestly  at  Rodolph. 

"  This  evening ! — impossible !  "  replied  he. 

"  Why,  since  the  occupier  does  not  return  until  the  day  after 
to-morrow  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  I — I  cannot  this  evening " 

"Really?    Well,  and  I— I  cannot  to-morrow." 

"Why  not?" 


THE  RENDEZ  VO  US.  99 

"  For  the  reason  that  prevents  you  this  evening,"  said  the 
robber,  in  a  tone  of  mockery. 

After  a  moment's  reflection,  Eodolph  replied : 

"  Well,  then,  this  evening  be  it.     Where  shall  we  meet  ?  " 

"  We  will  not  separate,"  said  the  Schoolmaster. 

"Why  not?" 

"Why  should  we?" 

"What  is  the  use  of  separating?  The  weather  has  cleared 
up,  and  we  will  go  and  walk  about,  and  give  a  look  at  the  Allee 
des  Veuves:  you  will  see  how  my  woman  will  work.  When  that 
is  done,  we  will  return  and  play  a  hand  at  piquet,  and  have  a 
bit  of  something  in  a  place  in  the  Champs  Elysees  that  I  know, 
near  the  river;  and,  as  the  Allee  des  Veuves  is  deserted  at  an 
early  hour,  we  will  walk  that  way  about  ten  o'clock." 

"  I  will  join  you  at  nine  o'clock." 

"  Do  you  or  do  you  not  wish  that  we  should  do  this  job 
together  ?  " 

"  I  do  wish  it." 

"  Well,  then,  we  do  not  separate  before  evening,  or  else " 

"Or  else?" 

"  I  shall  think  that  you  are  making  '  a  plant '  for  me,  and 
that's  the  reason  you  wish  to  part  company  now." 

"  If  I  wished  to  set  the  '  traps '  after  you,  what  is  to  prevent 
my  doing  so  this  evening  ?  " 

"Why,  everything.  You  did  not  expect  that  I  should  propose 
the  affair  to  you  so  soon,  and  if  you  do  not  leave  us  you  cannot 
put  anybody  up  to  it." 

"  You  mistrust  me,  then  ?  " 

"  Most  extremely.  But  as  what  you  propose  may  be  quite  true 
and  honest,  and  the  half  of  sixty  thousand  francs  is  worth  a 
risk,  I  am  willing  to  try  for  it;  but  this  evening,  or  never:  if 
never,  I  shall  have  my  suspicions  of  you  confirmed,  and  one  day 
or  other  I  will  take  care  and  let  you  dine  off  a  dish  of  my 
cooking." 

"  And  I  will  return  your  compliment,  rely  on  it." 

"  Oh,  thisi  is  all  stuff  and  nonsense !  "  said  the  Chouette.  "  I 
think  wkh  fourline,  to-night  or  never." 

Eodolph  was  in  a  state  of  extreme  anxiety ;  if  he  allowed  this 
opportunity  to  escape  of  laying  hands  on  the  Schoolmaster,  he 
might  never  again  light  on  him.  The  ruffian  would  ever  after- 
wards be  on  his  guard,  or  if  recognized,  apprehended,  and  taken 
back  to  the  Bagne,  would  carry  with  him  that  secret  which 
Rodolph  had  so  much  interest  in  discovering.  Confiding  in  his 


100  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PAPJS. 

address  and  courage,  and  trusting  to  chance,  he  said  to  the 
Schoolmaster, 

"  Agreed,  then ;  and  we  will  not  part  company  before  even- 
ing." 

"Then  I'm  your  man.  It  is  now  two  o'clock — it  is  some 
distance  from  here  to  the  Allee  des  Veuves — it  is  raining  again  in 
torrents — let  us  pay  the  reckoning  and  take  a  coach." 

"  If  we  have  a  coach,  I  should  like  first  to  smoke  a  cigar." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  the  Schoolmaster.  "  Finette  does  not  mind 
the  smell  of  tobacco." 

"Well,  then,  I'll  go  and  fetch  some  cigars,"  said  Rodolph, 
rising. 

"  Pray  don't  give  yourself  that  trouble,"  said  the  School- 
master, stopping  him :  "  Finette  will  go." 

Eodolph  resumed  his  seat.  The  Schoolmaster  had  penetrated 
his  design.  The  Chouette  went  out. 

"  What  a  clever  manager  I  have,  haven't  I  ?  "  said  the  ruffian ; 
"  and  so  tractable,  she  would  throw  herself  into  the  fire  for 
me." 

"  Apropos  of  fire,  it  is  not  over-warm  here,"  replied  Rodolph, 
placing  both  his  hands  under  his  blouse ;  and  then,  continuing  his 
conversation  with  the  Schoolmaster,  he  took  out  a  lead  pencil 
and  a  morsel  of  paper,  which  he  had  in  his  waistcoat-pocket, 
without  being  detected,  and  wrote  some  words  hastily,  taking 
care  to  make  his  letters  wide  apart,  so  that  they  might  be  more 
legible:  for  he  wrote  under  his  blouse,  and  without  seeing  what 
he  wrote. 

This  note  escaped  the  penetration  of  the  Schoolmaster:  the 
next  thing  was  to  enable  it  to  reach  its  address. 

Rodolph  rose  and  went  listlessly  towards  the  window,  and 
began  to  hum  a  tune  between  his  teeth,  accompanying  himself 
on  the  window  glasses. 

The  Schoolmaster  came  up  to  the  window  and  said  to  Rodolph : 

"  What  tune  are  you  playing  ?  " 

"  I  am  playing  '  Tu  n'  auras  pas  ma  rose.' " 

"  And  a  very  pretty  tune  it  is.  I  should  like  to  know  if  it 
would  have  the  effect  of  making  any  of  the  passers-by  turn 
round  ?  " 

"  I  had  no  such  intention." 

"You  are  wrong,  young  man;  for  you  are  playing  the 
tambourine  on  that  pane  of  glass  with  all  your  might.  But  I 
was  thinking,  the  porter  of  this  house  in  the  Allee  des  Veuves 
is  perhaps  a  stout  fellow ;  if  he  resists,  you  have  only  your  pistol, 
which  is  a  noisy  weapon,  whilst  a  tool  like  this  (and  he  showed 


THE  RENDEZVOUS.  101 

Rodolph  the  handle  of  his  poniard)  makes  no  noise,  and  does 
not  disturb  anybody." 

"  Do  you  mean,  then,  to  assassinate  him  ?  "  exclaimed  Rodolph. 
"  If  you  have  any  such  intention,  let  us  give  up  the  job 
altogether :  I  will  have  no  hand  in  it — so  don't  rely  on  me " 

"  But  if  he  awakes  ?  " 

"  We  will  take  to  our  heels." 

"  Well,  just  as  you  like ;  only  it  is  better  to  come  to  a  clear 
understanding  beforehand.  So,  then,  ours  is  simply  a  mere 
robbery  with  forcible  entry " 

"  Nothing  more." 

"  Tht's  very  silly  and  contemptible:  but  so  be  it." 

"  And  as  I'will  not  leave  you  for  a  second,"  thought  Rodolph, 
"  I  will  prevent  you  from  shedding  blood." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PREPARATIONS. 

THE  Chouette  returned  to  the  room,  bringing  the  cigars  with 
her. 

"  I  don't  think  it  rains  now,"  said  Rodolph,  lighting  his  cigar. 
"  Suppose  we  go  and  fetch  the  coach  ourselves — it  will  stretch 
our  legs." 

"  What !  not  rain  !  "  replied  the  Schoolmaster:  "  are  you  blind? 
Do  you  think  I  will  expose  Finette  to  the  chance  of  catching 
cold,  and  exposing  her  precious  life,  and  spoiling  her  new 
shawl?" 

"  You  are  right,  old  fellow :  it  rains  cats  and  dogs.  Let  the 
servant  come  and  we  can  pay  him,  and  desire  him  to  fetch 
us  a  coach,"  replied  Rodolph. 

"  That's  the  most  sensible  thing  you  have  said  yet,  young 
fellow;  we  may  go  and  look  about  as  we  seek  the  Allee  des 
Veuves." 

The  servant  entered,  and  Rodolph  gave  her  five  francs. 

"Ah!  sir,  it  is  really  an  imposition — I  cannot  allow  it/' 
exclaimed  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  Oh !  all  right :  your  turn  next  time." 

"  Be  it  so,  but  on  condition  that  I  shall  offer  you  something, 
by  and  by,  in  a  little  cabaret  in  the  Champs  Elysees — a  capital 
little  snuggery  that  I  know  of." 


102  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"Just  as  you  like." 

The  servant  paid,  and  they  left  the  room. 

Eodolph  wished  to  go  last,  out  of  politeness  to  the  Chouette, 
but  the  Schoolmaster  would  not  allow  it,  and  followed  close  on 
his  heels,  watching  his  every  movement. 

The  master  of  the  house  kept  a  wine-shop  also,  and  amongst 
other  drinkers  a  charcoal-man,  with  his  face  blackened  and  his 
large  hat  flapping  over  his  eyes,  was  paying  his  '  shot '  at  the 
bar  when  these  three  personages  appeared.  In  spite  of  the  close 
look-out  of  the  Schoolmaster  and  the  one-eyed  hag,  Eodolph,  who 
walked  before  the  hideous  pair,  exchanged  a  rapid  and  unper- 
ceived  glance  with  Murphy  as  he  got  into  -the  hackney-coach. 

"  Which  way  am  I  to  go,  master  ?  "  asked  the  driver. 

Eodolph  replied,  in  a  loud  voice : 

"  Alice  des " 

"Des  Acacias,  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,"  cried  the  School- 
master, interrupting  him.  Then  he  added,  "  And  we  will  pay 
you  well,  coachman." 

The  door  was  shut. 

"  What  the  devil  made  you  bawl  out  which  way  we  were  going 
before  these  people  ?  "  said  the  Schoolmaster.  "  If  the  thing 
were  found  out  to-morrow,  we  might  be  traced  and  discovered. 
Young  man — young  man,  you  are  very  imprudent !  " 

The  coach  was  already  in  motion.     Eodolph  answered: 

"  True ;  I  did  not  think  of  that.  But  with  my  cigar  I  shall 
smoke  you  like  herrings:  let  us  have  a  window  open." 

And,  joining  the  action  to  the  word,  Eodolph,  with  much 
dexterity,  let  fall  outside  the  window  the  morsel  of  paper,  folded 
very  small,  on  which  he  had  hastily  written  a  few  words  in  pencil 
under  his  blouse.  The  Schoolmaster's  glance  was  so  quick,  that, 
in  spite  of  the  calmness  of  Eodolph's  features,  the  ruffian  detected 
some  expression  of  triumph,  for,  putting  his  head  out  of  window, 
he  called  out  to  the  driver, 

"  Whip  behind !  whip  behind !  there  is  some  one  getting  up  at 
the  back  of  the  coach!" 

The  coach  stopped,  and  the  driver,  standing  on  his  seat,  looked 
back,  and  said: 

"  N"o,  master,  there  is  no  one  there." 

" Parbleu!  I  will  look  myself,"  replied  the  Schoolmaster, 
jumping  out  into  the  street. 

Not  seeing  any  person  or  anything  (for  since  Eodolph  had 
dropped  the  paper  the  coach  had  gone  on  several  yards),  the 
Schoolmaster  thought  he  was  mistaken. 

"You  will  laugh  at  me,"  he  said,  as  he  resumed  his  seat, 


PREPARATIONS.  103 

"  but  I  don't  know  why  I  thought  some  one  was  following  us." 

The  coach  at  this  moment  turned  round  a  corner,  and  Murphy, 
who  had  not  lost  sight  of  it  with  his  eyes,  and  had  seen  Rodolph's 
maneuver,  ran  and  picked  up  the  little  note,  which  had  fallen 
into  a  crevice  between  two  of  the  paving-stones. 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  Schoolmaster  said  to 
the  driver  of  the  hackney-coach, 

"  My  man,  we  have  changed  our  minds :  drive  to  the  Place  de 
la  Madelaine." 

Eodolph  looked  at  him  with  astonishment. 

"  All  right,  young  man :  from  hence  we  may  go  to  a  thousand 
different  places.  If  they  seek  to  track  us  hereafter,  the  deposi- 
tion of  the  coachman  will  not  be  of  the  slightest  service  to 
them." 

At  the  moment  when  the  coach  was  approaching  the  barrier, 
a  tall  man,  clothed  in  a  long  white  riding-coat,  with  his  hat 
drawn  over  his  eyes,  and  whose  complexion  appeared  of  a  deep 
brown,  passed  rapidly  along  the  road,  stooping  over  the  neck 
of  a  high,  splendid  hunter,  which  trotted  with  extraordinary 
speed. 

"  A  good  horse  and  a  good  rider,"  said  Rodolph,  leaning  for- 
ward to  the  door  of  the  coach  and  following  Murphy  (for  it  was 
he)  with  his  eyes.  "What  a  pace  that  stout  man  goes!  Did 
you  see  him  ?  " 

"Ma  foil  he  passed  so  very  quickly,"  said  the  Schoolmaster, 
"that  I  did  not  remark  him." 

•  Rodolph  calmly  concealed  his  satisfaction ;  Murphy  had,  doubt- 
less, deciphered  the  almost  hieroglyphic  characters  of  the  note 
which  he  had  dropped,  and  which  had  escaped  the  vigilance  of  the 
Schoolmaster.  Certain  that  the  coach  was  not  followed,  he  had 
become  more  assured,  and  desirous  of  imitating  the  Chouette, 
who  slept,  or  rather  pretended  to  sleep,  he  said  to  Rodolph, 

"  Excuse  me,  young  man,  but  the  motion  of  the  coach  always 
produces  a  singular  effect  on  me — it  sends  me  off  to  sleep  like  a 
child." 

The  ruffian,  under  the  guise  of  assumed  sleep,  thought  to 
examine  whether  the  physiognomy  of  his  companion  betrayed 
any  emotion ;  but  Rodolph  was  on  his  guard,  and  replied, 

"  I  rose  so  early  that  I  feel  sleepy,  and  will  have  a  nap  too." 

He  shut  his  eyes,  and  very  soon  the  hard  breathing  of  the 
Schoolmaster  and  the  Chouette,  who  snored  in  chorus,  so  com- 
pletely deceived  Rodolph,  that,  thinking  his  companions  sound 
asleep,  he  half  opened  his  eyes.  The  Schoolmaster  and  the 
Chouette,  in  spite  of  their  loud  snoring,  had  their  eyes  open, 


104  .       THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

and  were  exchanging  some  mysterious  signs  by  means  of  their 
fingers  curiously  placed  or  bent  in  the  palms  of  their  hands.  In 
an  instant  this  mute  language  ceased.  The  brigand  no  doubt 
perceived,  by  some  almost  imperceptible  sign,  that  Eodolph  was 
not  asleep,  and  said,  in  a  laughing  tone, 

"  Ah,  ah,  comrade !  what,  you  were  trying  your  friends,  were 
you?" 

"  That  can't  astonish  you,  who  sleep  with  your  eyes  open." 

"  I  who That's  different,  young  man :  I  am  a  som- 
nambulist." 

The  hackney-coach  stopped  in  the  Place  de  la  Madelaine. 
The  rain  had  ceased  for  a  moment,  but- the  clouds,  driven  by 
the  violence  of  the  wind,  were  so  dark  and  so  low,  that  it  was 
almost  night  in  appearance.  Eodolph,  the  Chouette,  and  the 
Schoolmaster,  went  towards  the  Cours  la  Eeine. 

"  Young  man,  I  have  an  idea,  which  is  not  a  bad  one,"  said 
the  robber. 

"What  is  it?" 

"To  ascertain  if  all  that  you  have  told  us  respecting  the 
interior  of  the  house  in  the  Allee  des  Veuves  is  true." 

"  You  surely  will  not  go  there  now,  under  any  circumstances  ? 
It  would  awaken  suspicion." 

"  I  am  not  such  a  flat  as  that,  young  fellow :  but  why  have  I  a 
wife  whose  name  is  Finette  ?  " 

The  Chouette  drew  up  her  head. 

"Do  you  see  her,  young  man?  Why,  she  looks  like  a  war- 
horse  when  he  hears  the  blast  of  the  trumpet ! " 

"  You  mean  to  send  her  as  a  look-out  ?  " 

"  Precisely  so." 

"No.  17,  Allee  des  Veuves,  isn't  it,  my  man?"  cried  the 
Chouette,  impatiently.  "  Make  yourself  easy :  I  have  but  one 
eye,  but  that  is  a  good  one." 

"  Do  you  see,  young  man — do  you  see  she  is  all  impatience  to 
be  at  work  ?  " 

"  If  she  manages  cleverly  to  get  into  the  house,  I  do  not 
think  your  idea  a  bad  one." 

"Take  the  umbrella,  fourline;  in  half-an-hour  I  will  be  here 
again,  and  you  shall  see  what  I  will  do,"  said  the  Chouette. 

"  One  moment,  Finette :  we  are  going  down  to  the  '  Bleeding 
Heart ' — only  two  steps  from  here.  If  the  little  Tortillard 
(cripple)  is  there,  you  had  better  take  him  with  you:  he  will 
remain  outside  on  the  watch  whilst  you  go  inside  the  house." 

"You  are  rierht — little  Tortillard  is  as  cunning  as  a  fox:  he  is 
not  ten  years  of  age,  and  yet  it  was  he  who  the  other  day " 


PREPARATIONS.  105 

A  signal  from  the  Schoolmaster  interrupted  the  Chouette. 

"What  does  the  'Bleeding  Heart'  mean? — it  is  an  odd  sign 
for  a  cabaret,"  asked  Rodolph. 

"  You  must  complain  to  the  landlord." 

"  What  is  his  name?" 

"  The  landlord  of  the  '  Bleeding  Heart  ? '  " 

"  Yes." 

"What  is  that  to  you?  He  never  asks  the  names  of  his 
customers." 

"  But,  still " 

"  Call  him  what  you  like — Peter,  Thomas,  Christopher,  or 
Barnabas,  he  will  answer  to  any  and  all.  But  here  we  are,  and 
it's  time  we  were,  for  the  rain  is  coming  down  again  in  floods; 
and  how  the  river  roars ! — it  has  almost  become  a  torrent ! 
Why,  look  at  it!  Two  more  days  of  such  rain,  and  the  water 
will  overflow  the  arches  of  the  bridge." 

"You  say  that  we  are  there,  but  where  the  devil  is  the 
cabaret?  I  do  not  see  any  house  here." 

"  Certainly  not,  if  you  look  round  about  you." 

"Where  should  I  look  then?" 

"  At  your  feet." 

"  At  my  feet  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  whereabouts  ?  " 

"Here — look:  do  you  see  the  roof?  Mind,  and  don't  step 
upon  it." 

Rodolph  had  not  remarked  one  of  those  subterraneans  which 
used  to  be  seen,  some  years  since,  in  certain  spots  in  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  particularly  near  the  Cours  la  Eeine. 

A  flight  of  steps,  cut  out  of  the  damp  and  greasy  ground,  led 
to  the  bottom  of  this  sort  of  deep  ditch,  against  one  end  of  which, 
cut  perpendicularly,  leaned  a  low,  mean,  dilapidated  hovel ;  its 
roof  covered  with  moss-covered  tiles,  was  scarcely  so  high  as  the 
ground  on  which  Rodolph  was  standing;  two  or  three  out- 
buildings, constructed  of  worm-eaten  planks,  serving  as  cellar, 
wood-house,  and  rabbit-hutches,  surrounded  this  wretched  den. 

A  narrow  path,  which  extended  along  this  ditch,  led  from  the 
stairs  to  the  door  of  the  hut;  the  rest  of  the  ground  was  con- 
cealed under  a  mass  of  trellis-work,  which  sheltered  two  rows  of 
clumsy  tables,  fastened  to  the  ground.  A  worn-out  iron  sign 
swung  heavily  backwards  and  forwards  on  its  creaking  hinges, 
and  through  the  rust  that  covered  it  might  still  be  seen  a  red 
heart  pierced  ttnth  an  arrow.  The  sign  was  supported  by  a  post 
erected  above  this  cave — this  real  human  burrow. 


106  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

A  thick  and  moist  fog  was  added  to  the  rain  as  night 
approached. 

"  What  think  you  of  this  hotel,  young  fellow  ?  "  inquired  the 
Schoolmaster. 

"Why,  thanks  to  the  torrents  that  have  fallen  for  the  last 
fortnight,  it  must  be  deliciously  fresh.  But  come  on." 

"  One  moment — I  wish  to  know  if  the  landlord  is  in.     Hark !  " 

The  ruffian  then,  thrusting  his  tongue  forcibly  against  his 
palate,  produced  a  singular  noise — a  sort  of  guttural  sound,  loud 
and  lengthened,  something  like  P-r-r-r-r-r-r-r ! ! !  A  similar 
note  came  from  the  depths  of  the  hovel. 

"  He's  there,"  said  the  Schoolmaster.  .  "  Pardon  me,  young 
man — respect  to  the  ladies — allow  the  Chouette  to  pass  first: 
I  follow  you.  Mind  how  you  come — it's  slippery." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  BLEEDING  HEART. 

THE  landlord  of  the  Bleeding  Heart,  after  having  responded 
to  the  signal  of  the  Schoolmaster,  advanced  politely  to  the 
threshold  of  his  door. 

This  personage,  whom  Eodolph  had  been  to  see  in  the  Cite, 
and  whom  he  did  not  yet  know  under  his  true  name,  or,  rather, 
his  habitual  surname,  was  Bras  Rouge. 

Lank,  mean-looking,  and  feeble,  this  man  might  be  fifty  years 
of  age.  His  countenance  resembled  both  the  weasel  and  the 
rat ;  his  peaked  nose,  his  receding  chin,  his  high  cheek-bones,  his 
small  eyes,  black,  restless,  and  keen,  gave  his  features  an 
indescribable  expression  of  malice,  cunning,  and  sagacity.  An 
old  brown  wig,  or,  rather,  as  yellow  as  his  bilious  complexion, 
perched  on  the  top  of  his  head,  showed  the  nape  of  the  old 
fellow's  withered  neck.  He  had  on  a  round  jacket,  and  one 
of  those  long  black  aprons  worn  by  the  waiters  at  the  wine-shops. 

Our  three  acquaintances  had  hardly  descended  the  last  step  of 
the  staircase  when  a  child  of  about  ten  years  of  age,  rickety, 
lame,  and  somewhat  misshapen,  came  to  rejoin  Bras  Rouge,  whom 
he  resembled  in  so  striking  a  manner  that  there  was  no  mistaking 
them  for  father  and  son.  There  was  the  same  quick  and 
cunning  look,  joined  to  that  impudent,  hardened,  and  knavish 
air,  which  is  peculiar  to  the  scamp  (voyou)  of  Paris — that  fear- 


TUB  BLEEDrNO  HEART.  107 

ful  type  of  precocious  depravity,  that  real  hempseed  (graine  de 
lagne),  as  they  style  it,  in  the  horrible  slang  of  the  jail.  The 
forehead  of  the  brat  was  half  lost  beneath  a  thatch  of  yellowish 
locks,  as  harsh  and  stiff  as  horse-hair.  Reddish-colored  trousers 
and  a  gray  blouse,  confined  by  a  leather  girdle,  completed 
Tortillard's  costume,  whose  nickname  was  derived  from  his 
infirmity.  He  stood  close  to  his  father,  standing  on  his  sound 
leg  like  a  heron  by  the  side  of  a  marsh. 

"Ah,  here  is  the  darling  one!  (mome}"  said  the  School- 
master. "  Finette,  night  is  coming  on,  and  time  is  pressing;  we 
must  profit  by  the  daylight  which  is  left  to  us." 

"  You  are  right,  my  man :  I  will  ask  the  father  to  spare  his 
darling." 

"Good  day,  old  friend,"  said  Bras  Rouge,  addressing  the 
Schoolmaster,  in  a  voice  which  was  cracked,  sharp,  and  shrill. 
"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  you  could  spare  your  '  small  boy  *  to  my  mistress 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  she  has  lost  something  which  he  could 
help  her  to  look  for." 

Bras  Rouge  winked  his  eye  and  made  a  sign  to  the  School- 
master, and  then  said  to  the  child, 

"  Tortillard,  go  with  Madame." 

The  hideous  brat  hopped  forward  and  took  hold  of  the 
'  one-eyed's '  hand. 

"  Love  of  a  bright  boy,  come  along !  There  is  a  child !  "  said 
Finette.  "  And  how  like  his  father !  He  is  not  like  Pegriotte, 
who  always  pretended  to  have  a  pain  in  her  side  when  she  came 
near  me — a  little  baggage !  " 

"  Come,  come,  away ! — be  off,  Finette !  Keep  your  weather- 
eye  open,  and  bright  look-out.  I  await  you  here." 

"  I  won't  be  long.     Go  first,  Tortillard." 

The  one-eyed  hag  and  the  little  cripple  went  up  the  slippery 
steps. 

"  Finette,  take  the  umbrella,"  the  brigand  called  out. 

"  It  would  be  in  the  way,  my  man,"  said  the  old  woman,  who 
quickly  disappeared  with  Tortillard  in  the  midst  of  the  fog, 
which  thickened  with  the  twilight,  and  the  hollow  murmur  of  the 
wind  as  it  moaned  through  the  thick  and  leafless  branches  of  the 
tall  elms  in  the  Champs  Elysees. 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  said  Rodolph. 

It  was  requisite  to  stoop  in  passing  in  at  the  door  of  the 
cabaret,  which  was  divided  into  two  apartments.  In  one  was 
a  bar  and  a  broken-down  billiard-table ;  in  the  other,  tables  and 
garden-chairs,  which  had  once  been  painted  green.  Two  narrow 


108  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

windows,  with  their  cracked  panes  festooned  with  spiders'  webs, 
cast  a  dim  but  not  religious  light  on  the  damp  walls. 

Eodolph  was  alone  for  one  moment  only,  during  which  Bras 
Rouge  and  the  Schoolmaster  had  time  to  exchange  some  words, 
rapidly  uttered,  and  some  mysterious  signs. 

"  You'll  take  a  glass  of  beer — or  brandy,  perhaps — whilst  we 
wait  for  Finette  ?  "  said  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  No :  I  am  not  thirsty." 

"  Do  as  you  like — I  am  for  a  drain  of  brandy,"  said  the 
ruffian;  and  he  seated  himself  on  one  of  the  little  green  tables 
in  the  second  apartment. 

Darkness  came  on  to  this  den  so  completely,  that  it  was 
impossible  to  see  in  one  of  the  angles  of'this  inner  apartment  the 
open  mouth  of  one  of  those  cellars  which  are  entered  by  a  door 
in  two  divisions,  one  of  which  was  constantly  kept  open  for  the 
convenience  of  access.  The  table  at  which  the  Schoolmaster  sat 
was  close  upon  this  dark  and  deep  hole,  and  he  turned  his  back 
upon  it,  so  that  it  was  entirely  concealed  from  Rodolph's  view. 

He  was  looking  through  the  window,  in  order  to  command 
his  countenance  and  conceal  the  workings  of  his  thoughts.  The 
sight  of  Murphy  speeding  through  the  Alice  des  Veuves  did 
not  quite  assure  him ;  he  was  afraid  that  the  worthy  squire  had 
not  quite  understood  the  full  meaning  of  his  note,  necessarily 
so  laconic,  and  containing  only  these  words: 

"  This  evening — ten  o'clock.     Be  on  your  guard." 

Resolved  not  to  go  to  the  Alice  des  Veuves  before  that  moment, 
nor  to  lose  sight  of  the  Schoolmaster  for  an  instant,  he  yet 
trembled  at  the  idea  of  losing  the  only  opportunity  that  might 
ever  be  afforded  him  of  obtaining  that  secret  which  he  was  so 
excessively  anxious  to  possess.  Although  he  was  powerful  and 
well  armed,  yet  he  had  to  deal  with  an  unscrupulous  assassin, 
capable  of  any  and  everything.  Not  desiring,  however,  that  his 
thoughts  should  be  detected,  he  seated  himself  at  the  table  with 
the  Schoolmaster,  and,  by  way  of  seeming  at  his  ease,  called 
for  a  glass  of  something.  Bras  Rouge  having  exchanged  a  few 
words,  in  a  low  tone,  with  the  brigand,  looked  at  Rodolph  with 
an  air  in  which  curiosity,  distrust,  and  contempt,  were  mingled. 

"  It  is  my  advice,  young  man,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  "  that 
if  my  wife  informs  us  that  the  persons  we  wish  to  see  are  within, 
we  had  better  make  our  call  about  eight  o'clock." 

"That  will  be  two  hours  too  soon,"  said  Rodolph;  "and  that 
will  spoil  all." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 


THE  BLEEDING  HEART.  109 

"  Bah  !  amongst  friends  there  should  be  no  ceremony." 

"  I  know  them  well,  and  I  tell  you  that  we  must  not  think  of 
going  before  ten  o'clock." 

"  Are  you  out  of  your  senses,  young  man  ?  " 

"  I  give  you  my  opinion,  and  devil  fetch  me  if  I  stir  from 
here  before  ten  o'clock." 

"Don't  disturb  yourself — I  never  close  my  establishment 
before  midnight,"  said  Bras  Rouge,  in  his  falsetto  voice :  "  it  is 
the  time  my  best  customers  drop  in ;  and  my  neighbors  never 
complain  of  the  noise  which  is  made  in  my  house." 

"  I  must  agree  to  all  you  wish,  young  man,"  continued  the 
Schoolmaster.  "  Be  it  so,  then:  we  will  not  set  out  on  our  visit 
until  ten  o'clock." 

"  Here  is  the  Chouette !  "  said  Bras  Rouge,  hearing  and  reply- 
ing to  a  warning  cry  similar  to  that  which  the  Schoolmaster 
had  uttered  before  he  descended  to  the  subterraneous  abode. 

A  minute  afterwards  the  Chouette  entered  the  billiard-room 
alone. 

"  It  is  all  right,  my  man — I've  done  the  trick ! "  cried  the 
one-eyed  hag  as  she  entered. 

Bras  Rouge  discreetly  withdrew,  without  asking  a  word  about 
Tortillard,  whom,  perhaps  he  did  not  expect  to  see  return.  The 
beldam  sat  with  her  face  towards  Rodolph  and  the  brigand. 

"Well?"  said  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  The  young  fellow  has  told  us  all  true,  so  far." 

"  Ah  !  you  see  I  was  right,"  exclaimed  Rodolph. 

"  Let  the  Chouette  tell  her  tale,  young  man.  Come,  tell  us 
all  about  it,  Finette." 

"  I  went  straight  to  No.  17,  leaving  Tortillard  on  the  look-out 
and  concealed  in  a  corner.  It  was  still  daylight,  and  I  rung  at 
a  side-door  which  opens  outwards,  and  here's  about  two  inches 
of  space  between  it  and  the  sill :  nothing  else  to  notice.  I  rang, 
the  porter  opened.  Before  I  pulled  the  bell  I  had  put  my 
bonnet  in  my  pocket,  that  I  might  look  like  a  neighbor.  As 
soon  as  I  saw  the  porter  I  pretended  to  cry  violently,  saying  that 
I  had  lost  a  pet  parrot,  Cocotte — a  litle  darling  that  I  adored. 
I  told  him  I  lived  in  the  Rue  Marboeuf,  and  that  I  had  pursued 
Cocotte  from  garden  to  garden,  and  entreated  him  to  allow 
me  to  enter  and  try  and  find  the  bird." 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  Schoolmaster,  with  an  air  of  proud  satisfac- 
tion, pointing  to  Finette,  "what  a  woman!" 

"  Very  clever,"  said  Rodolph.     "  And  what  then  ?  " 

"  The  porter  allowed  me  to  look  for  the  creature,  and  I  went 
trotting  all  round  the  garden,  calling  '  Cocotte !  Cocotte ! '  and 


HO  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

looking  about  me  in  every  direction  to  scrutinize  everything. 
Inside  the  walls,"  continued  the  horrid  old  hag,  going  on  with 
her  description  of  the  premises,  "  inside  the  walls,  trellis-work 
all  round — a  perfect  staircase;  at  the  left-hand  corner  of  the 
wall  a  fir-tree,  just  like  a  ladder — a  lying-in  woman  might 
descend  by  it.  The  house  has  six  windows  on  the  ground-floor, 
and  has  no  upper  story — six  small  windows,  without  any  fasten- 
ing. The  windows  of  the  ground-floor  close  with  shutters,  having 
hooks  below  and  staples  in  the  upper  part :  press  in  the  bottom, 
use  your  steel  file "' 

"  A  push,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  "  and  it  is  open." 

The  Chouette  continued: 

"  The  entrance  has  a  glass-door,  two  Venetian  blinds  out- 
side  » 

"  Memorandum,"  said  the  ruffian. 

"  Quite  correct :  it  is  as  precise  as  if  we  saw  it,"  said  Rodolph. 

"  On  the  left,"  resumed  the  Chouette,  "  near  the  courtyard, 
is  a  well:  the  rope  may  be  useful  (for  at  that  particular  spot 
there  is  no  trellis  against  the  wall),  in  case  retreat  should  be 
cut  off  in  the  direction  of  the  door.  On  entering  into  the 
house " 

"  You  got  inside  the  house,  then  ?  Young  man,  she  got  inside 
the  house ! "  said  the  Schoolmaster,  with  pride. 

"  To  be  sure  I  got  in !  Not  finding  Cocotte,  I  had  made  so 
much  lamentation  that  I  pretended  I  was  quite  out  of  breath :  I 
begged  the  porter  to  allow  me  to  sit  down  on  the  step  of  the 
door,  and  he  very  kindly  asked  me  to  step  in,  offering  me  a  glass 
of  wine  and  water.  *A  glass  of  plain  water,'  I  said;  'plain 
water  only,  my  good  sir/  Then  he  made  me  go  into  the 
antechamber — carpeted  all  over:  good  precaution — footsteps  or 
broken  glass  cannot  be  heard,  if  we  must  '  mill  the  glaze  '  (break 
a  pane  of  glass)  ;  right  and  left,  doors  with  sliding  bolts,  which 
open  by  a  gentle  push  from  the  top.  At  the  bottom  was  a 
strong  door,  locked — it  looked  very  like  a  money-chest.  I  had 
my  wax  in  my  basket " 

"  She  had  her  wax,  young  man !  she  never  goes  without  her 
wax !  "  said  the  brigand. 

The  Chouette  proceeded: 

"  It  was  necessary  to  approach  the  door  which  smelled  so 
strongly  of  the  cash,  so  I  pretended  that  I  was  seized  with  a 
fit  of  coughing — so  violent,  that  I  was  compelled  to  lean  against 
the  wall  for  support.  Hearing  me  cough,  the  porter  said,  '  I'll 
fetch  you  a  morsel  of  sugar  to  put  in  your  water/  He  probably 
looked  for  a  spoon,  for  I  heard  plate  chink — plate  in  the  room 


THE  BLEEDING  HEART.  HI 

on  the  left-hand :  don't  forget  that,  fourline.  Well,  coughing 
and  wheezing,  I  reached  the  door  at  the  bottom — I  had  my  wax 
in  the  palm  of  my  hand.  I  leaned  against  the  lock  as  though 
accidentally,  and  here  is  the  impression :  we  may  not  want  it  to- 
day, but  another  time  it  may  be  useful." 

And  the  Chouette  gave  the  brigand  a  bit  of  yellow  wax,  on 
which  the  print  of  the  lock  was  perfectly  impressed. 

"  You  can  tell  us  whether  this  is  the  door  of  the  money-chest," 
said  the  Chouette. 

"  It  is,  and  there  is  the  cash,"  replied  Rodolph ;  and  then  said 
to  himself,  "  Has  Murphy,  then,  been  the  dupe  of  this  cursed 
old  hag?  Perhaps  so,  and  he  only  expects  to  be  assailed  at  ten 
o'clock :  by  that  time  every  precaution  will  have  been  taken." 

"But  all  the  money  is  not  there,"  continued  the  Chouette, 
and  her  one  green  eye  sparkled.  "  As  I  approached  the  windows, 
still  searching  for  my  darling  Cocotte,  I  saw  in  one  of  the  cham- 
bers (door  on  the  left)  some  bags  of  crown-pieces,  in  a  bureau. 
I  saw  them  as  plainly  as  I  see  you,  my  man ;  there  were  at  least 
a  dozen  of  them." 

"  Where  is  Tortillard  ?  "  said  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  In  his  hiding-place — not  more  than  two  paces  from  the 
garden.  He  can  see  in  the  dark  like  a  cat.  There  is  only  that 
one  entrance  to  N"o.  17,  so  when  we  go  he  will  tell  us  if  any  one 
has  come  or  not/' 

"  That's  good •" 

The  Schoolmaster  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words  than  he 
made  a  sudden  rush  at  Rodolph,  grappled  him  by  the  throat,  and 
flung  him  violently  down  the  cellar  which  was  yawning  behind 
the  table. 

The  attack  was  so  rapid,  unexpected,  and  powerful,  that 
Rodolph  could  neither  foresee  nor  avoid  it.  The  Chouette, 
alarmed,  uttered  a  piercing  shriek;  for  at  the  first  moment  she 
had  not  seen  the  result  of  the  struggle.  When  the  noise  of 
Rodolph's  body  rolling  down  the  steps  had  ceased,  the  School- 
master, who  knew  all  the  ways  and  windings  of  the  underground 
vaults  in  the  place,  went  down  the  stairs  slowly,  listening  as  he 
went. 

"  Fourline,  be  on  your  guard,"  cried  the  beldam,  leaning  over 
the  opening  of  the  trap :  "  draw  your  '  pinking  iron.' " 

The  brigand  disappeared  without  any  reply.  For  a  time 
nothing  was  heard,  but  at  the  end  of  a  few  moments  the  distant 
noise  of  a  door  shutting,  which  creaked  on  its  rusty  hinges, 
sounded  harshly  in  the  depths  of  the  cavern :  then  all  was  again 
still  as  death.  The  darkness  was  complete.  The  Chouette 


112          •  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

fumbled  in  her  basket,  and  then  producing  a  lucifer-match 
lighted  a  wax  taper,  whose  feeble  ray  made  visible  the  darkness 
of  this  dreary  den. 

At  this  moment  the  monster-visage  of  the  Schoolmaster  ap- 
peared at  the  opening  of  the  trap.  The  Chouette  could  not  re- 
press an  exclamation  or  horror  at  the  sight  of  his  ghastly, 
seamed,  mutilated,  and  fearful  face,  with  eyes  that  gleamed  like 
phosphorus,  and  seemed  to  glare  on  the  ground  even  in  the 
midst  of  the  darkness  which  the  lighted  taper  could  not  entirely 
dissipate.  Having  subdued  her  feeling  of  fright,  the  old  hag 
exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  horrible  flattery, 

"  You  must  be  an  awful  man,  fourline,  for  even  I  was 
frightened  ! — yes,  I ! !  " 

"  Quick,  quick,  for  the  Allee  des  Veuves ! "  said  the  ruffian, 
securely  closing  the  double  flap  of  the  trap  with  a  bar  of  iron. 
"  In  another  hour,  perhaps,  it  will  be  too  late.  If  it  is  a  trap, 
it  is  not  yet  baited ;  if  it  is  not,  why  we  can  do  the  job  alone." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  VAULT. 

STUNNED  by  his  horrible  fall,  Rodolph  lay  senseless  and 
motionless  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  down  which  he  had  been 
hurled.  The  Schoolmaster,  dragging  him  to  the  entrance  of  a 
second  and  still  deeper  cavern,  thrust  him  into  its  hideous  re- 
cesses, and  closing  and  securely  bolting  a  massy  iron-shod  door, 
returned  to  his  worthy  confederate  the  Chouette,  who  was  wait- 
ing to  join  him  in  the  proposed  robbery  (it  might  be  murder) 
in  the  Alice  des  Veuves. 

About  the  end  of  an  hour  Rodolph  began,  though  slowly,  to 
resume  his  consciousness.  He  found  himself  extended  on  the 
ground,  in  the  midst  of  thick  darkness;  he  extended  his  hand 
and  touched  the  stone  stairs  descending  to  the  vault;  a  sensa- 
tion of  extreme  cold  about  his  feet  induced  him  to  endeavor,  by 
feeling  the  ground,  to  ascertain  the  cause:  his  fingers  dabbled 
in  a  pool  of  water. 

With  a  violent  effort  he  contrived  to  seat  himself  on  the  lower 
step  of  the  staircase;  the  giddiness  arising  from  his  fall  sub- 
sided by  degrees,  and  as  he  became  able  to  extend  his  limbs  he 
found,  to  his  great  joy,  that,  though  severely  shaken  and  con- 
tused, no  bones  were  broken.  He  listened:  the  only  sound  that 


THE  VAULT.  113 

reached  his  ear  was  a  low,  dull,  pattering,  hut  continued  noise, 
of  which  he  was  then  far  from  divining  the  cause. 

As  his  senses  became  more  clear,  so  did  the  circumstances,  to 
which  he  had  been  the  unfortunate  victim,  return  to  his  imagi- 
nation; and  just  as  he  had  recalled  each  particular,  and  was 
deeply  considering  the  possible  result  of  the  whole,  he  became 
aware  that  his  feet  were  wholly  submerged  in  water:  it  had, 
indeed,  risen  above  his  ankle. 

In  the  midst  of  the  heavy  gloom  and  deep  silence  which  sur- 
rounded him,  he  heard  still  the  same  dull,  trickling  sound,  he 
had  observed  before;  and  now  the  matter  was  clear  to  him. 
Now,  indeed,  he  comprehended  all  the  horrors  of  his  situation: 
the  cave  was  filling  with  water,  arising  from  the  fearful  and 
formidable  overflowing  of  the  Seine — the  dungeon  in  which  he 
had  been  thrown  was  doubtless  beneath  the  level  of  the  river, 
and  was  chosen  by  his  jailers  for  that  purpose,  as  offering  a 
slow  though  certain  means  of  destruction. 

The  conviction  of  his  danger  recalled  Rodolph  entirely  to 
himself.  Quick  as  lightning  he  made  his  way  up  the  damp, 
slippery  stairs;  arrived  at  the  top,  he  came  in  contact  with  a 
thick  door:  he  tried  in  vain  to  open  it — its  massy  hinges 
resisted  his  most  vigorous  efforts  to  force  them. 

At  this  moment  of  despair  and  danger  his  first  thought  was 
for  Murphy.  "  If  he  be  not  on  his  guard  those  monsters  will 
murder  him ! "  cried  he.  "  It  will  be  I  who  shall  have  caused 
his  death — my  good,  my  faithful  Murphy !  "  This  cruel  thought 
nerved  the  arm  of  Rodolph  with  fresh  vigor,  and  again  he  bent 
his  most  powerful  energy  to  endeavor  to  force  the  ponderous 
door.  Alas !  the  thickly  plated  iron  with  which  it  was  covered 
mocked  his  -utmost  effort ;  and  sore,  weary,  and  exhausted,  he 
was  compelled  to  relinquish  the  fruitless  task.  Again  he  de- 
scended into  the  cave,  in  hopes  of  obtaining  something  which 
might  serve  as  a  lever  to  force  the  hinges  or  wrench  the  fasten- 
ings. Groping  against  the  slimy  walls,  he  felt  himself  con- 
tinually treading  on  some  sort  of  round  elastic  bodies,  which 
appeared  to  slip  from  under  his  feet  and  to  scramble  for  safety 
past  him — they  were  rats,  driven  by  the  first-rising  water  from 
their  retreats.  Groping  about  the  place  on  all  fours,  with  the 
water  half-way  up  to  his  legs,  Rodolph  felt  in  all  directions  for 
the  weapon  he  so  much  desired  to  find;  nothing  but  the  damp 
walls  met  his  touch  however,  and  in  utter  despair  he  resumed 
his  position  at  the  top  of  the  steps :  of  the  thirteen  stairs  which 
composed  the  flight,  three  were  already  under  water. 

Thirteen  had  ever  been  Rodolph's  unlucky  number.     There 


1U  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

are  moments  when  the  strongest  minds  are  under  the  influence 
of  superstitious  ideas,  and  at  this  juncture  Eodolph  viewed  the 
fatal  amount  of  stairs  as  an  ill  augury.  Again  the  possible  fate 
of  Murphy  recurred  to  him,  and,  as  if  inspired  by  a  fresh  hope, 
he  eagerly  felt  around  the  door  to  discover  some  slight  chink,  or 
opening,  by  which  his  cries  for  help  might  be  heard.  In  vain: 
the  dampness  of  the  soil  had  swollen  the  wood,  and  joined  it 
hermetically  to  the  wet  slimy  earth. 

Rodolph  next  tried  the  powers  of  his  voice,  and  shouted  with 
the  fullest  expansion  of  his  lungs,  trusting  that  his  cries  for 
assistance  might  reach  the  adjoining  cabaret;  and  then,  tired 
and  exhausted,  sat  down  to  listen.  Nothing  was  to  be  heard — 
no  sound  disturbed  the  deep  silence  which  reigned  but  the  drop, 
drop,  drop,  the  dull,  trickling,  monotonous  bubbling  of  the  fast- 
increasing  waters. 

His  last  hope  extinguished,  Rodolph  seated  himself  in  gloomy 
despair,  and,  leaning  his  back  against  the  door,  bewailed  the 
perilous  situation  of  his  faithful  friend,  perhaps  at  that  very 
moment  struggling  beneath  the  assassin's  knife.  Bitterly  did 
he  then  regret  his  rash  and  venturesome  projects,  however  good 
and  generous  the  motives  by  which  he  had  been  instigated;  and 
severely  did  he  reproach  himself  for  having  taken  advantage  of 
the  devotion  of  Murphy,  who,  rich,  honored,  and  esteemed  by  all 
who  knew  him,  had  quitted  a  beloved  wife  and  child  to  assist 
Rodolph  in  the  bold  undertaking  he  had  imposed  on  himself. 

During  these  sorrowful  reflections  the  water  was  still  rising 
rapidly,  and  five  stairs  only  now  remained  dry.  Rodolph  now 
found  himself  compelled  to  assume  a  standing  position,  though 
in  so  doing  his  forehead  was  brought  in  close  contact  with  the 
very  top  of  the  vault.  He  calculated  the  probable  duration  of 
his  mortal  agony — of  the  period  which  must  elapse  ere  this  slow, 
inch-like  death  would  put  a  period  to  his  misery;  he  bethought 
him  of  the  pistol  he  carried  with  him,  and,  at  the  risk  of  in- 
juring himself  in  the  attempt,  he  determined  to  fire  it  off 
against  the  door,  so  as  to  disturb  some  of  the  fastenings  by  the 
concussion:  but  here,  again,  a  disappointment  awaited  him — 
the  pistol  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  and  he  could  but  conclude 
it  had  fallen  from  his  pocket  during  his  struggle  with  the 
Schoolmaster.  But  for  his  deep  concern  on  Murphy's  account, 
Rodolph  would  have  met  his  death  unmoved — his  conscience 
acquitted  him  of  all  intentional  offense;  nay,  it  solaced  him 
with  the  recollection  of  good  actually  performed,  and  much 
more  meditated.  To  the  decrees  of  an  all-wise  and  inscrutable 
Providence  he  resigned  himself,  and  humbly  accepted  his  pres- 


THE  VAULT.  115 

ent  punishment  as  the  just  reward  for  a  criminal  action  as  yet 
unexpiated. 

A  fresh  trial  of  his  fortitude  awaited  him.  The  rats,  still 
pursued  by  the  fast-gathering  waters,  finding  no  other  means 
of  escape,  sought  refuge  from  one  step  to  another,  ascending  as 
fast  as  the  rising  flood  rendered  their  position  untenable,  un- 
able to  scale  the  perpendicular  walls  or  doors  they  availed  them- 
selves of  the  vestments  of  Rodolph,  whose  horror  and  disgust 
rose  to  an  indescribable  degree  as  he  felt  their  cold,  clammy 
paws,  and  wet,  hairy  bodies,  crawling  or  clinging  to  him :  in  his 
attempts  to  repulse  them,  their  sharp,  cold  bite,  inflicted  on 
him  the  most  acute  agony,  while  his  face  and  hands  streamed 
with  blood  from  the  multitude  of  wounds  received.  Again  he 
called  for  help,  shouted  aloud,  and  almost  screamed  in  his  pain 
and  wretchedness.  Alas!  the  dull  echo  of  the  vault  and  the 
gurgling  waters  alone  replied.  A  few  short  moments,  and  he 
would  be  bereft  even  of  the  power  of  calling  upon  God  or  man 
to  help  him:  the  rapidly  rising  flood  had  now  reached  his  very 
throat,  and  ere  long  would  have  ascended  to  his  lips. 

The  choked  air  began,  too,  to  fail  in  the  narrow  space  now 
left  it,  and  the  first  symptoms  of  asphyxia  began  to  oppress 
Rodolph:  the  arteries  of  his  temples  beat  violently,  his  head 
became  giddy,  and  the  faint  sickness  of  death  seemed  to  make 
his  chest  heave  convulsively.  Already  were  the  waters  gurgling 
in  his  ears;  a  dizziness  of  sight  and  a  confusion  of  ideas  had 
well-nigh  deprived  him  of  all  powers  of  sight  or  sound ;  the  last 
glimmer  of  reason  was  well-nigh  shaken  from  her  throne,  when 
hasty  steps  and  the  sound  of  voices  on  the  other  side  of  the  door 
were  heard. 

Hope  recalled  his  expiring  strength,  and,  making  one  power- 
ful effort,  Rodolph  was  able  to  distinguish  the  following  words, 
after  which  all  consciousness  forsook  him: 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  so  ?  there,  you  see  there  is  no  one  here ! " 

"  Deuce  take  it !  no  more  there  is,"  replied  the  voice  of  the 
Chourineur,  in  a  tone  of  vexation  and  disappointment.  And 
the  sounds  died  away. 

Rodolph,  utterly  exhausted,  had  no  longer  power  to  sustain 
himself;  his  limbs  sunk  from  under  him,  and  he  slid  unresist- 
ingly down  the  stone  steps. 

All  at  once  the  door  of  the  vault  was  abruptly  opened  from 
the  other  side,  and  the  swelling  masses  contained  in  the  inner 
vault,  glad  to  find  a  further  outlet,  rushed  onwards  as  though 
bursting  through  the  gates  of  a  sluice,  and  the  Chourineur, 
whose  opportune  return  shall  be  accounted  for  by  and  by, 


116  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

seized  the  two  arms  of  Rodolph,  who,  half-dead,  had  me- 
chanically clung  to  the  threshold  of  the  door,  and  bore  him 
from  the  black  and  rushing  waters  which  had  nigh  proved  his 
grave. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  SICK-NURSE. 

SNATCHED  by  the  Chourineur  from  a  certain  death,  and  re- 
moved to  the  house  in  the  Allee  des  Veuves  which  had  been 
reconnoitred  by  the  Chouette  previously  'to  the  attempt  on  it  by 
the  Schoolmaster,  Rodolph  was  placed  in  bed,  in  a  comfortably 
furnished  apartment :  a  cheerful  fire  was  burning  on  the  hearth. 
A  lamp,  placed  on  a  neighboring  table,  diffused  a  strong  clear 
light;  while  the  bed  of  Rodolph,  shaded  by  thick  curtains  of 
green  damask,  remained  protected  from  the  glare,  and  in  the 
shadow  of  its  deep  recess. 

A  Negro  of  middling  stature,  with  white  hair  and  eyebrows, 
wearing  an  orange  and  green  ribbon  at  the  button-hole  of  his 
blue  coat,  sat  by  the  bedside,  holding  in  his  right  hand  a  sec- 
onds' watch,  which  he  appeared  to  consult  while  counting  with 
his  left  the  beating  of  Rodolph's  pulse.  The  expression  of  the 
Negro's  countenance  was  at  once  sad  and  pensive,  and  he  con- 
tinued from  time  to  time  to  gaze  on  the  sleeping  man  with  the 
most  tender  solicitude. 

The  Chourineur,  clad  in  rags  and  soiled  with  mud,  stood 
motionless,  with  folded  arms,  at  the  foot  of  the  bed;  his  red 
beard  was  long  and  matted,  in  disorder;  his  thick  bushy  hair 
was  tangled  with  mud  and  wet,  which  still  dripped  from  it; 
while  his  hard,  bronzed  features  were  marked  by  the  most  pro- 
found pity  for  the  patient:  hardly  venturing  to  breathe  lest 
the  heaving  of  his  huge  chest  should  disturb  the  invalid,  he 
awaited  with  the  most  intense  anxiety  the  result  of  the  doctor's 
observations  on  the  sick  man's  state;  then,  as  though  to  wile 
away  the  fearful  apprehension  of  an  unfavorable  opinion,  he 
continued  to  deliver  his  thoughts  aloud,  after  the  following 
manner : 

"  Who  would  think,  now,  to  see  him  lying  there  so  helpless, 
he  could  ever  have  been  the  man  to  give  me  such  a  precious 
drubbing  as  I  got  from  him?  I  dare  say,  though,  he  will  soon 
be  up  again,  well  and  strong  as  ever.  Don't  you  think  so, 
M.  le  Docteur?  'Faith,  I  only  wish  he  could  drum  himself 


THE  SICK-NURSE.  H7 

well  upon  my  back ;  I'd  lend  it  him  as  long  as  he  liked.  But, 
perhaps,  that  would  shake  him  too  much,  and  over-fatigue  him: 
would  it,  sir  ?  "  addressing  the  Negro,  whose  only  reply  was  an 
impatient  wave  of  the  hand. 

The  Chourineur  was  instantly  silent. 

"  The  draught !  "  said  the  doctor. 

The  Chourineur,  who  had  respectfully  left  his  nailed  shoes  at 
the  door,  at  these  words  arose  and  walked  towards  the  table  in- 
dicated by  the  Negro's  finger ;  going  on  the  very  top  of  his  toes, 
drawing  up  his  legs,  extending  his  arms,  and  swelling  out  his 
back  and  shoulders,  in  a  manner  so  ludicrous  as,  under  other 
circumstances,  would  have  been  highly  diverting.  The  poor  fel- 
low seemed  endeavoring  to  collect  his  whole  weight,  so  that  no 
portion  of  it  should  touch  the  floor;  which,  in  spite  of  his 
energetic  efforts  to  prevent  it,  groaned  beneath  his  ponderous 
limbs  as  they  moved  towards  the  desired  spot.  Unfortunately, 
between  his  over-anxiety  to  acquit  himself  well  in  his  important 
mission,  and  his  fear  of  dropping  the  delicate  phial  he  was 
bringing  so  over-carefully,  he  grasped  the  slight  neck  so  tightly 
in  his  huge  hand  that  it  shivered  to  atoms,  and  the  precious 
liquid  was  expended  on  the  carpet. 

At  the  sight  of  this  unfortunate  mischance  the  Chourineur 
remained  in  mute  astonishment,  one  of  his  huge  legs  in  the 
air,  his  toes  nervously  contracted,  and  looking  with  a  stupefied 
air  alternately  from  the  doctor  to  the  fragments  of  the  bottle, 
and  from  that  to  the  morsel  his  thumb  and  finger  were  yet 
tightly  holding. 

"  Awkward  devil !  "  exclaimed  the  Negro,  impatiently. 

"  Yes,  that  I  am ! "  responded  the  Chourineur,  as  though 
grateful  for  the  sound  of  a  voice  to  break  the  frightful  bewilder- 
ment of  his  ideas. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  the  ^Esculapius,  observing  the  table  attentively, 
"  happily  you  took  the  wrong  phial — I  wanted  the  other  one." 

"What,  that  little  one  with  the  red  stuff?7'  inquired  the  un- 
lucky sick-nurse,  in  a  low  and  humble  tone. 

"  Of  course  I  mean  that :  why,  there  is  no  other  left." 

The  Chourineur,  turning  quickly  round  upon  his  heels  after 
his  old  military  fashion,  crushed  the  fragments  of  glass  which 
lay  on  the  carpet  beneath  his  feet.  More  delicate  ones  might 
have  suffered  severely  from  the  circumstance,  but  the  ex-de- 
bardeur  had  a  pair  of  natural  sandals,  hard  as  the  hoofs  of  a 
horse. 

"Have  a  care!"  cried  the  physician:  "you  will  hurt  your- 
self ! " 


118  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

To  this  caution  the  Chourineur  paid  no  attention,  but  seemed 
wholly  absorbed  in  so  discharging  his  new  mission  as  should 
effectually  destroy  all  recollection  of  his  late  clumsiness.  It  was 
really  beautiful  to  behold  the  scrupulous  delicacy  and  lightness 
of  touch  with  which,  spreading  out  his  two  first  fingers,  he 
seized  the  fragile  crystal;  avoiding  all  use  of  the  unlucky  thumb 
whose  undue  pressure,  he  rightly  conceived,  had  brought  about 
his  previous  accident,  he  kept  so  widely  stretched  from  his  fore- 
finger that  a  butterfly  might  have  passed  between,  with  out- 
spread wings,  without  losing  one  atom  of  its  golden  plumage. 
The  black  doctor  trembled  lest  all  this  caution  should  lead  to  a 
second  misadventure,  but,  happily,  the  phial  reached  its  destina- 
tion in  safety.  As  the  Chourineur  approached  the  bed,  he  again 
smashed  beneath  his  tread  some  of  the  fallen  relics  of  the  former 
potion. 

"  The  deuce  take  you,  man !  do  you  want  to  maim  yourself 
for  life?" 

"Lame  myself?"  asked  the  eager  nurse. 

"  Why,  yes :  you  keep  walking  upon  glass  as  though  you  were 
trying  for  it." 

"  0,  bless  you !  never  mind  that ;  the  soles  of  my  feet  are  hard 
as  iron :  must  be  something  sharper  than  glass  could  hurt  them." 

"  A  teaspoon "  said  the  doctor. 

The  Chourineur  recommenced  his  evolutions  sylphidiques, 
and  returned  with  the  article  required. 

After  having  swallowed  a  few  spoonsful  of  the  mixture, 
Eodolph  began  to  stir  in  his  bed,  and  faintly  moved  his  hands. 

"  Good !  good !  he  is  recovering  from  his  stupor,"  said  the 
doctor,  speaking  to  himself.  "  That  bleeding  has  relieved  him : 
he  is  now  out  of  danger." 

"Saved?  Bravo!  Vive  la  Charte!"  exclaimed  the  Chou- 
rineur, in  the  full  burst  of  his  joy. 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  and,  pray,  be  quiet ! "  said  the  Negro, 
in  a  tone  of  command. 

"  To  be  sure  I  will,  Monsieur  le  Medecin." 

"His  pulse  is  becoming  regular — very  well,  indeed — excel- 
lent  " 

"  And  that  poor  friend  of  M.  Rodolph's — body  and  bones  of 
me ! — when  he  comes  to  know  that But,  then,  luckily " 

"Silence!  I  say." 

"  Certainly,  M.  le  Docteur." 

«  And  sit  down." 

"  But,  M.  le " 

"  Sit  down,  I  tell  you !    You  disturb  me,  twisting  and  fidget- 


fttE  SICK-NURSE.  119 

ing  about  in  that  manner — you  distract  my  attention.  Come, 
sit  down  at  once,  and  keep  still." 

"  But,  doctor,  don't  you  perceive  I  am  as  dirty  as  a  pile  of 
floating  wood  just  going  to  be  unloaded? — all  slime  and  wet, 
you  see.  I  should  spoil  the  furniture." 

"  Then  sit  down  on  the  ground." 

"  I  should  soil  the  carpet." 

"  Do  what  you  like,  but,  for  Heaven's  sake,  be  quiet ! "  said 
the  doctor,  in  a  tone  of  impatience ;  then,  throwing  himself  into 
an  armchair,  he  leaned  his  head  upon  his  clasped  hands,  and 
appeared  lost  in  deep  reflection. 

After  a  moment  of  profound  meditation,  the  Chourineur,  less 
from  any  need  he  felt  for  repose  than  in  obedience  to  the  doc- 
tor's commands,  took  a  chair  with  the  utmost  precaution,  turned 
it  upside  down  with  an  air  of  intense  self-satisfaction  at  hav- 
ing at  length  devised  a  plan  to  act  in  strict  conformity  with  the 
orders  received,  and  yet  avoid  all  risk  of  soiling  the  silken 
cushion:  having  laid  the  back  on  the  ground  he  proceeded,  after 
all  manner  of  delicate  arrangements,  to  take  his  seat  on  the 
outer  rails;  but,  unhappily,  the  Chourineur  was  entirely  igno- 
rant of  the  laws  of  the  lever  and  the  equilibrium  of  bodies — the 
chair  overbalanced,  and  the  luckless  individual  seated  thereon, 
in  endeavoring  to  save  himself  from  falling,  by  an  involuntary 
movement  caught  hold  of  a  small  stand,  on  which  was  a  tray 
containing  some  tea-things. 

At  the  formidable  noise  caused  by  so  many  falling  articles 
clattering  upon  the  head  of  the  unfortunate  cause  of  all  this 
discord  and  havoc,  the  doctor  sprung  from  his  seat;  while 
Rodolph,  awaking  with  a  start,  raised  himself  on  his  elbow, 
looked  about  him  with  an  anxious  and  perturbed  glance,  then 
passing  his  hand  over  his  brows,  as  though  trying  to  arrange  his 
ideas,  he  inquired, 

"Where  is  Murphy?" 

"  Your  royal  highness  need  be  under  no  apprehensions  on  his 
account,"  answered  the  Negro,  respectfully :  "  there  is  every  hope 
of  his  recovery." 

"  Recovery !    He  is,  then,  wounded  ?  " 

"  Unhappily,  my  lord,  he  is." 

"Where  is  he?  let  me  see  him!"  And  Rodolph  endeavored 
to  rise,  but  fell  back  again,  overcome  by  weakness  and  the  in- 
tense pain  he  felt  from  his  many  and  severe  contusions.  "  Since 
I  cannot  walk,"  cried  he,  at  length,  "  let  me  be  instantly  carried 
to  Murphy — this  moment !  " 

"  My  lord,  he  sleeps  at  present :  it  would  be  highly  dangerous, 


120  THE  MYSTERIES  Off  PARIS. 

at  this  particular  juncture,  to  expose  him  to  the  slightest  agita- 
tion." 

"  You  are  deceiving  me,  and  he  is  dead !  He  has  heen 
murdered !  and  I — I  am  the  wretched  cause  of  it ! "  cried 
Eodolph  in  a  tone  of  agony,  raising  his  clasped  hands  towards 
heaven. 

"  My  lord  knows  that  his  servant  is  incapable  of  a  falsehood. 
I  assert  by  my  honor,  that,  although  severely  wounded,  Murphy 
lives,  and  that  his  chance  of  recovery  is  all' but  certain." 

"  You  say  that  but  to  prepare  me  for  more  disastrous  tidings : 
he  lies,  doubtless,  wounded  past  all  hope;  and  he,  my  faithful 
friend,  will  die !  " 

"  My  lord " 

"  Yes,  you  are  seeking  to  deceive  me  till  all  is  over.  But  I 
will  see  him — I  will  judge  for  myself:  the  sight  of  a  friend 
cannot  be  hurtful.  Let  me  be  instantly  removed  to  his 
chamber." 

"  Once  more,  my  lord,  I  pledge  my  solemn  assurance,  that, 
barring  chances  not  likely  to  occur,  Murphy  will  soon  be  con- 
valescent." 

"My  dear  David,  may  I  indeed  believe  you?" 

"  You  may,  indeed,  my  lord." 

"  Hear  me.  You  know  the  high  opinion  I  entertain  of  your 
ability  and  knowledge,  and  that,  from  the  hour  in  which  you 
were  attached  to  my  household,  you  have  possessed  my  most 
unbounded  confidence — never,  for  one  instant,  have  I  doubted 
your  great  skill  and  perfect  acquaintance  with  your  profession; 
but  I  conjure  you,  if  a  consultation  be  necessary " 

"  My  lord,  that  would  have  been  my  first  thought,  had  I  seen 
the  slightest  reason  for  such  a  step;  but,  up  to  the  present  mo- 
ment, it  would  be  both  useless  and  unnecessary.  And,  besides, 
I  should  be  somewhat  tenacious  of  introducing  strangers  into 
the  house  until  I  knew  whether  your  orders  of  yesterday " 

"But  how  has  all  this  happened?"  said  Rodolph,  interrupt- 
ing the  black.  "  Who  saved  me  from  drowning  in  that  horrid 
cellar?  I  have  a  confused  recollection  of  having  heard  the 
Chourineur's  voice  there :  was  I  mistaken  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all  mistaken,  my  lord.  But  let  the  brave  fellow,  to 
whom  all  praise  is  due,  relate  the  affair  in  which  he  was  the 
principal  actor  himself." 

"Where  is  he?  where  is  he?" 

The  doctor  looked  about  for  the  recently  elected  sick-nurse, 
and  at  length  found  him,  thoroughly  silenced  and  ashamed  by 
his  late  tumble,  ensconced  behind  the  curtains  of  the  bed. 


THE  SICE-NURSE.  121 

"  Here  he  is,"  said  the  doctor :  "  lie  looks  somewhat  shame- 
faced." 

"  Come  forward,  my  brave  fellow ! "  said  Rodolph,  extending 
his  hand  to  his  preserver. 

The  confusion  of  the  poor  Chourineur  was  still  further  in- 
creased from  having,  when  behind  his  curtain,  heard  the  black 
doctor  address  Rodolph  continually  as  "  my  lord,"  or  "  your 
royal  highness." 

"  Approach,  my  friend — my  deliverer !  "  said  Rodolph ;  "  and 
give  me  your  hand." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir — I  mean,  my  lord — no,  highness — no " 

"  Call  me  M.  Rodolph,  as  you  used  to  do :  I  like  it  better." 

"  And  so  do  I — it  comes  so  much  easier  to  one.  But  be  so 
good  as  to  excuse  my  hand:  I  have  done  so  much  work  lately, 
that " 

"  Your  hand,  I  tell  you — your  hand !  " 

Overcome  by  this  kind  and  persevering  command,  the 
Chourineur  timidly  extended  his  black  and  horny  palm,  which 
Rodolph  warmly  shook. 

"  Now,  then,  sit  down,  tell  me  all  about  it — how  you  dis- 
covered the  cellar.  But  I  think  I  can  guess.  The  School- 
master ?  " 

"  We  have  him  in  safety,"  said  the  black  doctor. 

"  Yes,  he  and  the  Chouette,  tied  together  like  two  rolls  of 
tobacco.  A  pair  of  pretty  creatures  they  look,  as  ever  you  wish 
to  see,  and,  I  doubt  not,  sick  enough  of  each  other's  company  by 
this  time." 

"  And  my  poor  Murphy !  What  a  selfish  wretch  must  I  be  to 
think  only  of  myself !  Where  is  he  wounded,  David  ?  " 

"  In  the  right  side,  my  lord ;  but,  fortunately,  towards  the 
lower  false  rib." 

"  Oh,  I  must  have  a  deep  and  terrible  revenge  for  this ! 
David,  I  depend  upon  your  assistance." 

"  My  lord  knows  full  well  that  I  am  wholly  devoted  to  him, 
both  body  and  soul,"  replied  the  Negro,  coldly. 

"  But  how,  my  noble  fellow,  were  you  able  to  arrive  here  in 
time?"  said  Rodolph  to  the  Chourineur. 

"  Why,  if  you  please,  my  lor no,  sir — highness 

Rodolph — I  had  better  begin  by  the  beginning " 

"  Quite  right.  I  am  listening — go  on.  But  mind,  you  are 
only  to  call  me  Monsieur  Rodolph." 

"  Very  well.  You  know  that  last  night  you  told  me,  after 
you  returned  from  the  country,  where  you  had  gone  with  poor 
Goualeuse,  '  Try  and  find  the  Schoolmaster  in  the  Cite ;  tell 


122  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

him  you  know  of  a  capital  'put-up,'  that  you  have  refused  to 
join  it,  but  that  if  he  will  take  your  place  he  has  only  to  be  to- 
morrow (that's  to-day)  at  the  barrier  of  Bercy,  at  the  Panier- 
Fleuri,  and  there  he  will  see  the  man  who  has  '  made  the  plant ' 
(qui  a  nourri  le  poupard).'" 

"  Well." 

"  On  leaving  you,  I  pushed  on  briskly  for  the  Cite.  I  goes  to 
the  ogress's — no  Schoolmaster;  then  to  the  Rue  Saint  Eloi;  on 
to  the  Rue  aux  Feves;  then  to  the  Rue  de  la  Vieille  Draperie — 
couldn't  find  my  man.  At  last  I  stumbled  upon  him  and  that 
old  devil's  kin,  Chouette,  in  the  front  of  Notre  Dame,  at  the 
shop  of  a  tailor,  who  is  a  fence  *  and  thief :  they  were  '  sporting 
the  blunt  which  they  had  prigged  from  the  tall  gentleman  'in 
black,  who  wanted  to  do  something  to  you;  they  bought  them- 
selves some  toggery.  The  Chouette  bargained  for  a  red  shawl 
— an  old  monster !  I  told  my  tale  to  the  Schoolmaster  and  he 
snapped  at  it,  and  said  he  would  be  at  the  rendezvous  accord- 
ingly. So  far  so  good.  This  morning,  according  to  your  orders, 
I  ran  here  to  bring  you  the  answer.  You  said  to  me,  '  My  lad, 
return  to-morrow  before  daybreak;  you  must  pass  the  day  in 
the  house,  and  in  the  evening  you  will  see  something  which  will 
be  worth  seeing/  You  did  not  let  out  more  than  that,  but  I 
was  '  fly/  and  said  to  myself,  *  This  is  a  "  dodge  "  to  catch  the 
Schoolmaster  to-morrow,  by  laying  a  right  bait  for  him.  He  is 

a scoundrel ;  he  murdered  the  cattle-dealer,  and,  as  they  say, 

another  person  besides,  in  the  Rue  du  Roule.  I  see  all  about 
it »» 

"  My  mistake  was  not  to  have  told  you  all,  my  good  fellow ; 
then  this  horrible  result  would  not  have  occurred." 

"  That  was  your  affair,  M.  Rodolph ;  all  that  concerned  me 
was  to  serve  you:  for,  truth  to  say,  I  don't  know  how  or  why, 
but,  as  I  have  told  you  before,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  your  bull-dog. 
But  that's  enough.  I  said,  then,  '  M.  Rodolph  pays  me  for  my 
time,  so  my  time  is  his,  and  I  will  employ  it  for  him/  Then 
an  idea  strikes  me :  the  Schoolmaster  is  cunning,  he  may  suspect 
a  trap.  M.  Rodolph  will  propose  to  him  the  job  for  to-morrow, 
it  is  true,  but  the  '  downy  cove '  is  likely  enough  to  come  to- 
day and  lurk  about,  and  reconnoitre  the  ground,  and  if  he  is 
suspicious  of  M.  Rodolph  he  will  bring  some  other  cracksman 
(robber)  with  him,  and  do  the  trick  on  his  own  account.  To 
prevent  this,  I  said  to  myself,  '  I  must  go  and  plant  myself 
somewhere  where  I  may  get  a  view  of  the  walls,  the  garden- 

*  Receiver  of  stolen  goods. 


THE  SICK-NURSE.  123 

gate — there  is  no  other  entrance.  If  I  find  a  snug  corner,  as  it 
rains,  I  will  remain  there  all  day,  perhaps  all  night,  and  to-mor- 
row morning  I  shall  be  all  right  and  ready  to  go  to  M.  Rodolph's.' 
So  I  goes  to  the  Allee  des  Veuves  to  place  myself,  and  what 
should  I  see  but  a  small  tavern,  not  ten  paces  from  your  door ! 
I  entered  and  took  my  seat  near  the  window,  in  a  room  on  the 
ground-floor.  I  called  for  a  quart  of  drink  and  a  quart  of  nuts, 
saying  I  expected  some  friends — a  hump-backed  man  and  a  tall 
woman.  I  chose  them  because  it  would  appear  more  natural. 
I  was  very  comfortably  seated,  and  kept  my  eye  on  the  door. 
It  rained  cats  and  dogs — no  one  passed :  night  came  on " 

"But,"  interrupted  Kodolph,  "why  did  you  not  go  at  once 
to  my  house?" 

"You  told  me  to  come  the  next  day  morning,  M.  Rodolph, 
and  I  didn't  dare  return  there  sooner :  I  should  have  looked  like 
an  intruder — a  sneak  (brosseur),  as  the  troopers  call  it.  You 
understand  ?  Well,  there  I  was  at  the  window  of  the  wine-shop, 
cracking  my  nuts  and  drinking  my  liquor,  when,  through  the 
fog,  I  saw  the  Chouette  approach,  accompanied  by  Bras  Rouge's 
brat,  little  Tortillard.  '  Ah,  ah ! '  said  I  to  myself,  '  now  the 
farce  begins ! '  Well,  the  little  hound  of  a  child  hid  himself  in 
one  of  the  ditches  of  the  Allee,  and  was  evidently  on  the  look- 
out. As  for  that the  Chouette,  she  takes  off  her  bonnet, 

puts  it  into  her  pocket,  and  rings  the  gate-bell.  Our  poor 
friend,  M.  Murphy,  opened  the  door,  and  the  one-eyed  mother 
of  mischief  tosses  up  her  arms  and  makes  her  way  into  the 
garden.  I  could  have  kicked  myself  for  not  being  able  to  make 
out  what  the  Chouette  was  up  to.  At  last  out  she  comes,  puts 
on  her  bonnet,  says  two  words  to  Tortillard  who  returns  to  his 
hole,  and  then  '  cuts  her  stick/  I  say  to  myself,  '  Caution !  no 
blunder  now !  Tortillard  has  come  with  the  Chouette :  then  the 
Schoolmaster  and  M.  Rodolph  are  at  Bras  Rouge's.  The 
Chouette  has  come  out  to  reconnoitre  about  the  house:  then, 
sure  as  a  gun,  they'll  try  it  on  this  very  night !  If  they  do, 
M.  Rodolph,  who  believes  they  will  not  go  to  work  till  to-mor- 
row, is  quite  over-reached ;  and  if  he  is  over-reached,  I  ought  to 
to  go  Bras  Rouge's  and  see  for  him.  True:  but  then  suppose 
that  the  Schoolmaster  arrives  in  the  meantime — that's  to  be 
thought  of.  Suppose  I  go  to  the  house  and  see  M.  Murphy — 
mind  your  eye !  that  urchin  Tortillard  is  near  the  door ;  he  will 
hear  me  ring  the  bell,  see  me,  and  give  the  word  to  the  Chouette ; 
and  if  she  returns,  that  will  spoil  all;  and  the  more  particularly 
as  perhaps  M.  Rodolph  has,  after  all,  made  his  arrangements  for 
this  evening.'  Confound  it !  these  yes  and  no  bothered  my  brain 


1£4  TU&  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

tremendously.  I  was  quite  bewildered,  and  saw  nothing  clear 
before  me.  I  didn't  know  what  to  do  for  the  best,  so  I  said, 
Til  walk  out,  and  perhaps  the  clear  air  will  brighten  my 
thoughts  a  bit.  I  went  out,  and  the  open  air  cleared  my  brain ; 
so  I  took  off  my  blouse  and  my  neckhandkerchief,  I  went  to  the 
ditch  where  Tortillard  lay,  and  taking  the  young  devil's  kin  by 
the  cuff  of  his  neck — how  he  did  wriggle,  and  twist,  and  scuffle, 
and  scratch ! — I  put  him  into  my  blouse,  tying  up  one  end  with 
the  sleeves  and  the  bottom  tightly  with  my  cravat.  He  could 
breathe  very  well.  Well,  then  I  took  the  bundle  under  my  arm, 
and  passing  a  low,  damp  garden,  surrounded  by  a  little  wall, 
I  threw  the  brat  Tortillard  into  the  midst  of  a  cabbage-bed. 
He  squeaked  like  a  sucking-pig,  but  nobody  could  hear  him  two 
steps  off.  I  cut  off:  it  was  time.  I  climbed  up  one  of  the  high 
trees  in  the  Alice,  just  in  front  of  your  door,  and  over  the  ditch 
in  which  Tortillard  had  been  stationed.  Ten  minutes  after- 
wards I  heard  footsteps :  it  was  raining  still,  and  the  night  was 
very  dark.  I  listened— it  was  the  Chouette.  '  Tortillard! 
Tortillard ! '  says  she,  in  a  low  voice.  '  It  rains,  and  the  little 
brat  is  tired  of  waiting,'  said  the  Schoolmaster,  swearing:  'if 
1  catch  him,  I'll  skin  him  alive ! '  '  Fourline,  take  care ! '  re- 
plied the  Chouette.  '  Perhaps  he  has  gone  to  warn  us  of  some- 
thing that  has  happened — maybe,  some  trap  for  us.  The  young 
fellow  would  not  make  the  attempt  till  ten  o'clock.'  '  That's  the 
very  reason,'  replies  the  Schoolmaster :  '  it  is  now  only  seven 
o'clock.  You  saw  the  money — nothing  venture  nothing  have. 
Give  me  the  ripping  chisel  and  the  jemmy ' 

"  What  instruments  are  they  ?  "  asked  Eodolph. 

"  They  came  from  Bras  Eouge's.  Oh,  he  has  a  well-fur- 
nished house !  In  a  crack  the  door  is  opened.  '  Stay  where  you 
are,'  said  the  Schoolmaster  to  the  Chouette;  keep  a  bright  look- 
out, and  give  me  the  signal  if  you  hear  anything.'  l  Put  your 
pinJcing-iron  in  the  button-hole  of  your  waistcoat,  that  you  may 
have  it  handy,'  said  the  old  hag.  The  Schoolmaster  entered  the 
garden,  and  I  instantly  coming  down  from  the  tree  fell  on  the 
Chouette.  I  silenced  her  with  two  blows  of  my  fist — my  new 
style — and  she  fell  without  a  word.  I  ran  into  the  garden,  but, 
thunder  and  lightning,  M.  Eodolph !  it  was  too  late " 

"  Poor  Murphy !  " 

"  He  was  struggling  on  the  ground  with  the  Schoolmaster  at 
the  entrance,  and,  although  wounded,  he  held  his  voice  and 
made  no  cry  for  help.  Excellent  man !  he  is  like  a  good  dog — 
bites,  but  doesn't  bark.  Well,  I  went  bang,  heads  or  tails,  at  it, 
hitting  the  Schoolmaster  on  the  shoulder,  which  was  the  only 


THE  SICK-NURSE.  125 

place  I  could  at  the  moment  touch.  '  Vive  la  Charte !  it's  I ! ' 
'The  Chourineur!'  shouts  M.  Murphy.  'Ah,  villain!  where 
do  you  come  from  ? '  cries  out  the  Schoolmaster,  quite  off  his 
guard  at  that.  '  What's  that  to  you  ? '  says  I,  fixing  one  of  his 
legs  between  my  knees,  and  grasping  his  '  fin '  with  my  other 
hand :  it  was  that  in  which  he  held  his  dagger.  '  And  M. 
Eodolph  ? '  asked  M.  Murphy  of  me,  whilst  doing  all  in  his  power 
to  aid  me " 

"  Worthy,  kind-hearted  creature ! "  murmured  Kodolph,  in 
a  tone  of  deep  distress. 

" '  I  know  nothing  of  him/  says  I ;  '  this  scoundrel,  perhaps, 
has  killed  him/  And  then  I  went  with  redoubled  strength  at 
the  Schoolmaster,  who  tried  to  stick  me  with  his  larding-pin; 
but  I  lay  with  my  breast  on  his  arm,  and  so  he  only  had  his  fist 
at  liberty.  *  You  are,  then,  quite  alone  ?  '  says  I  to  M.  Murphy, 
whilst  we  still  struggled  desperately  with  the  Schoolmaster. 
'  There  are  people  close  at  hand/  he  replied ;  '  but  they  did  not 
hear  me  cry  out/  '  Is  it  far  off  ? '  '  They  would  be  here  in  ten 
minutes/  '  Let  us  call  out  for  help,  there  are  passers-by  who  will 
come  and  help  us/  '  No,  as  we  have  got  him  we  must  hold  him 
here.  But  I  am  growing  weak — I  am  wounded/  '  Thunder 
and  lightning !  then  run  and  get  assistance,  if  you  have  strength 
left:  I  will  try  and  hold  him/  M.  Murphy  then  disengaged 
himself,  and  I  was  alone  with  the  Schoolmaster.  I  don't  want 
to  brag,  but,  by  Jove !  these  were  moments  when  I  was  not  hav- 
ing a  holiday.  We  were  half  on  the  ground,  half  on  the  bottom 
step  of  the  flight.  I  had  my  arms  round'the  neck  of  the  villain 
— my  cheek  against  his  cheek ;  and  he  was  puffing  like  a  bull — 
I  heard  his  teeth  grind.  It  was  dark — it  rained  pouring:  the 
lamp  left  in  the  passage  lighted  us  a  little.  I  had  twisted  one  of 
my  legs  round  his,  but,  in  spite  of  that,  his  loins  were  so  power- 
ful that  he  moved  himself  and  me  on  to  the  bare  ground.  He 
tried  to  bite  me,  but  couldn't :  I  never  felt  so  strong.  Thunder ! 
my  heart  beat,  but  it  was  in  the  right  place.  I  said,  '  I  am  like 
a  man  who  is  grappling  with  a  mad  dog,  to  prevent  him  from 
fastening  on  some  passer-by/  'Let  me  go,  and  I  will  do  you 
no  harm/  said  the  Schoolmaster,  in  an  exhausted  voice.  '  What ! 
a  coward  ? '  says  I  to  him.  '  So,  then,  your  pluck  is  in  your 
strength?  So  you  wouldn't  have  stabbed  the  cattle-dealer  at 
Poissy,  and  robbed  him,  if  he  had  only  been  as  strong  as  me — 
eh? '"'No/  says  he;  'but  I  will  kill  you  as  I  did  him/  And 
saying  that,  he  made  so  violent  a  heave,  and  gave  so  powerful 
a  jerk  with  his  legs  at  the  same  time,  that  he  half  threw  me  over: 
if  I  had  not  kept  a  tight  hold  of  his  wrist  which  held  the  stiletto, 


126  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

I  was  done  for.  At  this  moment  my  left  hand  was  seized  with 
the  cramp,  and  I  was  compelled  to  loosen  my  hold:  that  nearly 
spoiled  all,  and  I  said  to  myself,  '  I  am  now  undermost  and  he 
at  top — he'll  kill  me.  Never  mind,  I  had  rather  be  in  my  place 
than  his :  M.  Eodolph  said  that  I  had  heart  and  honor/  I  felt 
it  was  all  over  with  me,  and  at  that  moment  I  saw  the  Chouette 
standing  close  by  us,  with  her  glaring  eye  and  red  shawl. 
Thunder  and  lightning!  I  thought  I  had  the  nightmare. 
'  Finette/  cries  the  Schoolmaster,  '  I  have  let  fall  the  knife : 
pick  it  up — there,  there,  under  him — and  strike  him  home — in 
the  back — between  the  shoulders :  quick !  quick !  *  *  Only  wait, 
only  wait  till  I  find  it — till  I  see  it,  fourline/  And  then  the 
cursed  Chouette  turned  and  poked  about  us,  like  an  old  bird  of 
mischief  as  she  was.  At  last  she  found  the  dagger  and  sprung 
towards  it,  but  as  I  was  flat  on  my  belly  I  gave  her  a  kick  in 
the  stomach,  which  sent  her  neck  over  crop :  she  got  up,  and  in 
a  desperate  rage.  I  could  do  no  more;  I  still  held  on  and 
struggled  with  the  Schoolmaster,  but  he  kept  giving  me  such 
dreadful  blows  on  my  jaw  that  I  was  about  to  let  go  my  hold, 
when  I  saw  three  or  four  armed  men  who  came  down  the  stairs, 
and  M.  Murphy,  pale  as  ashes,  and  with  difficulty  supporting 
himself  with  the  assistance  of  the  doctor  here.  They  seized 
hold  of  the  Schoolmaster  and  the  Chouette,  and  soon  bound 
them  hand  and  foot.  That  was  not  all — I  still  wanted 
M.  Eodolph.  I  sprang  at  the  Chouette:  remembering  the  tooth 
of  the  poor  dear  Goualeuse,  I  grasped  her  arm  and  twisted  it, 
saying,  ' Where  is  M.  Eodolph?  She  bore  it  well,  and  silently. 
I  took  a  second  turn,  and  then  she  screeched  out,  '  At  Bras 
Eouge's,  in  the  vault  at  the  Bleeding  Heart ! '  All  right !  As 
I  went,  I  meant  to  take  Tortillard  from  his  cabbage-bed,  as  it 
was  on  my  road.  I  looked  for  him,  but  only  found  my  blouse — 
he  had  gnawed  his  way  out  with  his  teeth.  I  reached  the 
'  Bleeding  Heart/  and  I  laid  hold  of  Bras  Eouge.  '  Where  is 
the  young  man  who  came  here  this  evening  with  the  School- 
master?' '  Don't  squeeze  so  hard,  and  I'll  tell  you.  They 
wanted  to  play  him  a  trick  and  shut  him  up  in  my  cellar ;  we'll 
go  now  and  let  him  out.'  We  went  down,  but  there  was  no  one 
to  be  seen.  '  He  must  have  gone  out  whilst  my  back  was  turned/ 
says  Bras  Eouge:  'you  see  plain  enough  he  is  not  here.'  I  was 
going  away  sad  enough,  when,  by  the  light  of  the  lantern,  I  saw 
at  the  bottom  of  the  cellar  another  door.  I  ran  towards  it  and 
opened  the  door,  and  had,  as  it  were,  a  pail  of  water  thrown  at 
me.  I  saw  your  two  poor  arms  in  the  air.  I  fished  you  out  and 
brought  you  here  on  my  back,  as  there  was  nobody  at  hand  to 


THE  SICK-NURSE.  127 

get  a  coach.  That's  all  my  tale,  M.  Rodolph;  and  I  may  say, 
without  bragging,  that  I  am  satisfied  with  myself." 

"  My  man,  I  owe  my  life  to  you :  it  is  a  heavy  debt,  but  be 
assured  I  will  pay  it.  David,  will  you  go  and  learn  how 
Murphy  is,"  added  Kodolph,  "  and  return  again  instantly  ?  " 

The  black  went  out. 

"  Where  is  the  Schoolmaster,  my  good  fellow  ?  " 

"  In  another  room,  with  the  Chouette.  You  will  send  for  the 
police,  M.  Rodolph?" 

"  No." 

"  You  surely  will  not  let  him  go !  Ah,  M.  Rodolph,  none  of 
that  nonsensical  generosity !  I  say  again,  he  is  a  mad  dog — let 
the  passengers  look  out !  " 

"  He  will  never  bite  again,  be  assured." 

"  Then  you  are  going  to  shut  him  up  somewhere  ?  " 

"  No :  in  half  an  hour  he  will  leave  this  house." 

"The  Schoolmaster?" 

"  Yes." 

"Without  gens  d'armes?" 

"  Yes." 

"  He  will  go  out  from  here,  and  free  ?  " 

"  Free." 

"And  quite  alone?" 

"Quite  alone." 

"  But  he  will  go " 

"Wherever  he  likes,"  said  Rodolph,  interrupting  the  Chou- 
rineur  with  a  meaning  smile. 

The  black  returned. 

"Well,  David,  well,  and  how  is  Murphy?" 

"He  sleeps,  my  lord,"  said  the  doctor,  despondingly :  "his 
respiration  is  very  difficult." 

"  Not  out  of  danger  ?  " 

"  His  case  is  very  critical,  my  lord ;  yet  there  is  hope." 

"  Oh,  Murphy !  vengeance !  vengeance !  "  exclaimed  Rodolph, 
in  a  tone  of  concentrated  rage.  Then  he  added,  "David,  a 
word " 

And  he  whispered  something  in  the  ear  of  the  black.  He 
started  back. 

"Do  you  hesitate?"  said  Rodolph.  "Yet  I  have  often  sug- 
gested this  idea  to  you:  the  moment  is  come  to  put  it  into 
practice." 

"I  do  not  hesitate,  my  lord:  the  suggestion  is  well  worthy 
the  consideration  of  the  most  elevated  jurists,  for  this  punish- 
ment is  at  the  same  time  terrible  and  yet  fruitful  for  repentance. 


128  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

In  this  case  it  is  most  applicable.  Without  enumerating  the 
crimes  which  have  accumulated  to  send  this  wretch  to  the 
Bagne  for  his  life,  he  has  committed  three  murders — the  cattle- 
dealer,  Murphy,  and  yourself:  it  is  in  his  case  justice " 

"  He  will  have  before  him  an  unlimited  horizon  for  expia- 
tion," added  Rodolph.  After  a  moment's  silence  he  resumed: 
"  And  five  thousand  francs  will  suffice,  David  ?  " 

"  Amply,  my  lord." 

"  My  good  fellow,"  said  Eodolph  to  the  bewildered  Chou- 
rineur,  "  I  have  two  words  to  say  to  M.  David ;  will  you  go  into 
that  chamber  on  the  other  side,  where  you  will  see  a  large  red 
pocket-book  on  a  bureau,  open  it  and  take  out  five  notes  of  a 
thousand  francs  eack,  and  bring  them  to  me." 

"  And,"  inquired  the  Chourineur,  involuntarily,  "  who  are 
those  five  thousand  francs  for  ?  " 

"  For  the  Schoolmaster.  And  do  you,  at  the  same  time,  tell 
them  to  bring  him  in  here." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  PUNISHMENT. 

THE  scene  we  are  about  to  describe  took  place  in  a  room  hung 
with  red,  and  brilliantly  lighted.  Rodolph,  clothed  in  a  long 
dressing-gown  of  black  velvet,  which  increased  the  pallor  of  his 
features,  was  seated  before  a  large  table  covered  with  a  green 
cloth.  On  this  table  was  the  Schoolmaster's  pocket-book,  the 
pinchbeck  chain  of  the  Chouette  (to  which  was  suspended  the 
little  Saint  Esprit  of  lapis  lazuli),  the  blood-stained  stiletto 
with  which  Murphy  had  been  stabbed,  the  crow-bar  with  which 
the  door  had  been  forced,  and  the  five  notes  of  a  thousand  francs 
each,  which  the  Chourineur  had  fetched  out  of  the  next  apart- 
ment. 

The  Negro  doctor  was  seated  at  one  side  of  the  table,  the 
Chourineur  on  the  other.  The  Schoolmaster,  tightly  bound  with 
cords,  and  unable  to  move  a  limb,  was  placed  in  a  large  arm- 
chair on  castors,  in  the  middle  of  the  saloon.  The  people  who 
had  brought  in  this  man  had  withdrawn,  and  Rodolph,  the  doctor, 
the  Chourineur,  and  the  assassin,  were  left  alone.  Rodolph  was 
no  longer  out  of  temper,  but  calm,  sad,  and  collected:  he  was 
about  to  discharge  a  solemn,  self-imnosed  and  important  duty. 
The  doctor  was  lost  in  meditation.  The  Chourineur  felt  an  inde- 
scribable fear:  he  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  Rodolph.  The 


THE  PUNISHMENT.  129 

Schoolmaster's  countenance  was  ghastly:  he  was  in  an  agony  of 
fear.  The  most  profound  silence  reigned  within:  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  splash,  splash  of  the  rain  without,  as  it  fell  from 
the  roof  on  to  the  pavement.  Rodolph  addressed  the  School- 
master : 

"  Anselm  Duresnel,  you  have  escaped  from  the  Bagne  at 
Rochefort,  where  you  were  condemned  for  life  for  forgery, 
robbery,  and  murder !  " 

"  It's  false ! "  said  the  Schoolmaster,  in  a  hollow  voice,  and 
looking  about  him  with  his  restless  and  glaring  glance. 

"  You  are  Anselm  Duresnel,  and  you  murdered  and  robbed 
a  cattle-dealer  on  the  road  to  Poissy " 

"  It's  a  lie !  " 

"  You  shall  confess  it  presently." 

The  scoundrel  looked  at  Rodolph  with  an  air  of  astonishment. 

"  This  very  night  you  came  here  to  rob,  and  you  have  stabbed 
the  master  of  this  house " 

"  It  was  you  who  suggested  this  robbery ! "  assuming  an  air 
of  assurance.  "  I  was  attacked,  and  I  defended  myself." 

"  The  man  you  stabbed  did  not  attack  you — he  was  unarmed. 
True,  I  did  suggest  this  robbery  to  you — I'll  tell  you  why.  Last 
night  only,  after  having  robbed  a  man  and  woman  in  the  Cite, 
you  offered  to  kill  me  for  a  thousand  francs " 

"  I  heard  him,"  said  the  Chourineur. 

The  Schoolmaster  darted  at  him  a  glance  of  deadliest  hate. 

Rodolph  continued: 

"  You  see  there  was  no  occasion  to  tempt  you  to  do  mischief." 

"  You  are  not  my  judge,  and  I  will  not  answer  you  another 
question." 

"  I'll  tell  you  why  I  proposed  this  robbery  to  you.  I  knew 
you  were  a  runaway  convict — you  know  the  parents  of  the 
unfortunate  girl,  all  whose  misfortunes  have  been  caused  by  your 
miserable  accomplice  the  Chouette.  I  wished  to  draw  you  here  by 
the  temptation  of  a  robbery,  because  this  was  the  only  temptation 
that  could  avail  with  you.  Once  in  my  power,  I  leave  you  the 
choice  of  being  handed  over  to  the  hands  of  justice,  which  will 
make  you  pay  with  your  head  the  assassination  of  the  cattle- 
dealer " 

"  It  is  false !    I  did  not  commit  that  crime." 

"  Or  of  being  conducted  out  of  France,  under  my  direction, 
to  a  place  of  perpetual  confinement,  where  your  lot  will  be  less 
painful  than  at  the  Bagne:  but  I  will  only  allow  you  this  relaxa- 
tion of  punishment  on  condition  that  you  give  me  the  information 
which  I  desire  to  acquire.  Condemned  for  life,  you  have  broken 
away  from  your  confinement,  and  by  seizing  upon  you  and  plac- 


130  TEE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

ing  you  hereafter  beyond  the  possibility  of  doing  injury  I  serve 
society ;  and  from  your  confession  I  may,  perhaps,  find  the  means 
of  restoring  to  her  family  a  poor  creature  much  more  unfortunate 
than  guilty.  This  was  my  first  intention — it  was  not  legal: 
but  your  escape  and  your  fresh  crimes  forbid  any  such  course  on 
my  part  now,  and  place  you  beyond  all  law.  Yesterday,  by 
a  remarkable  revelation,  I  discovered  that  you  are  Anselm 
Duresnel " 

"It's  false!     I  am  not  called  Duresnel." 

Eodolph  took  from  the  table  the  chain  of  the  Chouette,  and 
pointing  to  the  little  Saint  Esprit  of  lapis  lazuli  said,  in  a 
threatening  voice, 

"  Sacrilege !  You  have  prostituted  'to  an  infamous  wretch 
this  holy  relic — thrice  holy,  for  your  infant  boy  had  this  pious 
gift  from  his  mother  and  grandmother ! " 

The  Schoolmaster,  dumbfounded  at  this  discovery,  lowered 
his  head  and  made  no  response. 

"  You  carried  off  your  child  from  his  mother  fifteen  years 
ago,  and  you  alone  possess  the  secret  of  his  existence.  I  had 
in  this  an  additional  motive  for  laying  hands  on  you  when  I 
had  detected  who  you  were.  I  seek  no  revenge  for  what  you 
have  done  to  me  personally,  but  to-night  you  have  again  shed 
blood  without  provocation.  The  man  you  have  assassinated  came 
to  you  in  full  confidence,  not  suspecting  your  sanguinary  purpose. 
He  asked  you  what  you  wanted :  '  Your  money  or  your  life ! ' 
and  you  stabbed  him  with  your  poniard." 

M  So  M.  Murphy  said  when  I  first  came  to  his  aid,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"It's  false!  he  lied!" 

"  Murphy  never  lies,"  said  Rodolph,  calmly.  "  Your  crimes 
demand  a  striking  reparation.  You  came  into  this  garden 
forcibly — you  stabbed  a  man  that  you  might  rob  him:  you  have 
committed  another  murder — you  ought  to  die  on  this  spot;  but 
pity,  respect  for  your  wife  and  son,  they  shall  save  you  from 
the  shame  of  a  scaffold.  It  will  be  said  that  you  were  killed 
in  a  brawl  with  weapons  in  your  hand.  Prepare,  the  means  for 
your  punishment  are  at  hand." 

Rodolph's  countenance  was  implacable.  The  Schoolmaster 
had  remarked  in  the  next  room  two  men,  armed  with  carbines. 
His  name  was  known:  he  thought  they  were  going  to  make 
away  with  him  and  bury  in  the  shade  his  later  crimes,  and  thus 
spare  his  family  the  new  opprobrium.  Like  his  fellows,  this 
wretch  was  as  cowardly  as  he  was  ferocious.  Thinking  his  hour 
was  come  he  trembled^  and  cried  "  Mercy ! " 


THE  PUNISHMENT.  131 

"  No  mercy  for  you,"  said  Rodolph.  "  If  your  brains  are 
not  blown  out  here,  the  scaffold  awaits  you " 

"  I  prefer  the  scaffold — I  shall  live,  at  least,  two  or  three 
months  longer.  Why,  why  should  I  be  punished  at  once? 
Mercy !  mercy !  " 

"  But  your  wife — your  son — they  bear  your  name " 

"  My  name  is  dishonored  already.  If  only  for  eight  days,  let 
me  live !  in  mercy  do !  " 

"  Not  even  that  contempt  of  life  which  is  sometimes  displayed 
by  the  greatest  criminals ! "  said  Rodolph,  with  disgust. 

"  Besides,  the  LAW  forbids  any  one  to  take  justice  into  their 
own  hands,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  with  assurance. 

"The  Law!  the  LAW!"  exclaimed  Rodolph.  "Do  you  dare 
to  invoke  the  law?  you,  who  have  always  lived  in  open  revolt 
and  constant  enmity  against  society  ?  " 

The  ruffian  bowed  his  head  and  made  no  answer ;  then  added, 
in  a  more  humble  tone, 

"  At  least  for  pity's  sake,  spare  my  life ! " 

"  Will  you  tell  me  where  your  son  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  who  are  the  parents  of  the  young  girl 
whose  childhood  the  Chouette  made  one  scene  of  torture  ?  " 

"  In  my  pocket-book  there  are  papers  which  will  put  you  on 
the  track  of  the  persons  who  gave  her  to  the  Chouette." 

"  Where  is  your  son  ?  " 

"Will  you  let  me  live?" 

"  First  make  a  full  confession." 

"  And  then,  when  I  have  told  you  all "  said  the  School- 
master with  hesitation. 

"  You  have  killed  him  !  " 

"  No,  no !  I  have  confided  him  to  one  of  my  accomplices,  who, 
when  I  was  apprehended,  effected  his  escape." 

"  What  did  he  do  with  him?  " 

"He  brought  him  up,  and  gave  him  an  education  which 
fitted  him  to  enter  into  a  banking-house  at  Nantes,  so  that  we 
might  get  information,  manage  an  introduction  to  the  banker, 
and  so  facilitate  our  plans.  Although  at  Rochefort,  and  prepar- 
ing for  my  escape,  I  arranged  this  plan  and  corresponded  in 
cipher  with  my  friend " 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu!  his  child !  his  son ! !  This  man  appals  me !  " 
cried  Rodolph,  with  horror,  and  hiding  his  head  between  his 
hands. 

"  But  it  was  only  of  forgery  that  we  thought,"  exclaimed  the 
scoundrel ;  "  and  when  my  son  was  informed  what  was  expected 


132  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

of  him,  he  was  indignant,  told  all  to  his  employer,  and  quitted 
Nantes.  You  will  find  in  my  pocket-book  notes  of  all  the  steps 
taken  to  discover  his  traces.  The  last  place  we  ascertained  he 
had  lived  in  was  the  Hue  du  Temple,  where  he  was  known  under 
the  name  of  Frangois  Germain:  the  exact  address  is  also  in  my 
pocket-book.  You  see  I  do  not  wish  to  conceal  anything — I 
have  told  you  everything  I  know.  Now  keep  your  promise. 
I  only  ask  you  to  have  me  taken  into  custody  for  this  night's 
robbery." 

"  And  the  cattle-merchant  at  Poissy  ?  " 

"  That  affair  can  never  be  brought  to  light — there  are  no 
proofs.  I  own  it  to  you,  in  proof  of  the  sincerity  with  which 
I  am  speaking,  but  before  any  other  person  I  should  deny  all 
knowledge  of  the  business." 

"  You  confess  it,  then,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  was  destitute,  without  the  smallest  means  of  living — the 
Chouette  instigated  me  to  do  it:  but  now  I  sincerely  repent 
ever  having  listened  to  her.  I  do,  indeed.  Ah !  would  you 
but  generously  save  me  from  the  hands  of  justice,  I  would 
promise  you  most  solemnly  to  forsake  all  such  evil  practices  for 
the  future." 

"  Be  satisfied,  your  life  shall  be  spared ;  neither  will  I  deliver 
you  into  the  hands  of  the  law." 

"  Do  you,  then,  pardon  me  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Schoolmaster,  as 
though  doubting  what  he  heard.  "  Can  it  be  ?  Can  you  be  so 
generous  as  to  forgive  ?  " 

"  I  both  judge  you  and  award  your  sentence,"  cried  Rodolph, 
in  a  solemn  tone.  "  I  will  not  surrender  you  to  the  power  of 
the  laws,  because  they  would  condemn  you  to  the  galleys  or  the 
scaffold;  and  that  must  not  be.  No,  for  many  reasons.  The 
galleys  would  but  open  a  fresh  field  for  the  development  of  your 
brutal  strength  and  villainy,  which  would  soon  be  exercised  in 
endeavoring  to  obtain  domination  over  the  guilty  or  unfortunate 
beings  you  would  be  associated  with,  to  render  yourself  a  fresh 
object  of  horror  or  of  dread:  for  even  crime  has  its  ambition, 
and  yours  has  long  consisted  in  a  pre-eminence  in  vicious  deeds 
and  monstrous  vices,  while  your  iron  frame  would  alike  defy  the 
labors  of  the  oar  or  the  chastisement  of  those  set  over  you.  And 
the  strongest  chains  may  be  broken,  the  thickest  wall  pierced 
through — steep  ramparts  have  been  scaled  before  now — and  you 
might  one  day  burst  your  yoke  and  be  again  let  loose  upon 
society,  like  an  infuriated  beast,  marking  your  passage  with 
murder  and  destruction;  for  none  would  be  safe  from  your 
Herculean  strength,  or  from  the  sharpness  of  your  knife: 


THE  PUNISHMENT.  133 

therefore  such  consequences  must  be  avoided.  But  since  the 
galleys  might  fail  to  stop  your  infamous  career,  how  is  society 
to  be  preserved  from  your  brutal  violence  ?  The  scaffold  comes 
next  in  consideration " 

"  It  is  my  life,  then,  you  seek !  "  cried  the  ruffian.  "  My  life ! 
Oh,  spare  it!" 

"  Peace,  coward !  Hope  not  that  I  mean  so  speedy  a  termina- 
tion to  your  just  punishment.  No,  your  eager  craving  after  a 
wretched  existence  would  prevent  you  from  suffering  the  agony 
of  anticipated  death,  and,  far  from  dwelling  upon  the  scaffold 
and  the  block,  your  guilty  soul  would  be  filled  with  schemes  of 
escape  and  hopes  of  pardon :  neither  would  you  believe  you  were 
truly  doomed  to  die  till  in  the  very  grasp  of  the  executioner;  and 
even  in  that  terrible  moment  it  is  probable  that,  brutalized  by 
terror,  you  would  be  a  mere  mass  of  human  flesh,  offered  up  by 
justice  as  an  expiatory  offering  to  the  manes  of  your  victims. 
That  mode  of  settling  your  long  and  heavy  accounts  will  not  half 
pay  the  debt.  No,  poor,  wretched,  trembling  craven !  we  must 
devise  a  more  terrific  method  of  atonement  for  you.  At  the  scaf- 
fold, I  repeat,  you  would  cling  to  hope  while  one  breath  remained 
within  you ;  wretch  that  you  are,  you  would  dare  to  hope !  you, 
who  have  denied  all  hope  and  mercy  to  so  many  unhappy  beings ! 
No,  no !  unless  you  repent,  and  that  with  all  your  heart,  for 
the  misdeeds  of  your  infamous  life,  I  would  (in  this  world,  at 
least)  shut  out  from  you  the  very  faintest  glimmer  of  hope " 

"  What  man  is  this  ?  what  have  I  ever  done  to  injure  him  ? — 
whence  comes  he  thus  to  torture  me  ? — where  am  I  ?  "  asked  the 
Schoolmaster,  in  almost  incoherent  tones,  and  nearly  frantic  with 
terror. 

Eodolph  continued: 

"  If  even  you  could  meet  death  with  a  man's  courage,  I  would 
not  have  you  ascend  the  scaffold :  for  you  it  would  be  merely  the 
arena  in  which,  like  many  others,  you  would  make  a  disgusting 
display  of  hardened  ferocity ;  or,  dying  as  you  have  lived,  exhale 
your  last  sigh  with  an  impious  scoff  or  profane  blasphemy.  That 
must  not  be  permitted.  It  is  a  bad  example  to  set  before  a 
gazing  crowd  the  spectacle  of  a  condemned  being  making  sport 
of  the  instrument  of  death,  swaggering  before  the  executioner, 
and  yielding  with  an  obscene  jest  the  divine  spark  infused  into 
man  by  the  breath  of  a  creating  God.  To  punish  the  body  is 
easily  done;  to  save  the  soul  is  the  great  thing  to  be  labored  for 
and  desired.  '  All  sin  may  be  forgiven/  said  our  blessed 
Saviour,  but  from  the  tribunal  to  the  scaffold  the  passage  is 
too  short — time  and  opportunity  are  required  to  repent  and 


134  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

make  atonement:  this  leisure  you  shall  have.  May  God  grant 
that  you  turn  it  to  the  right  purpose ! " 

The  Schoolmaster  remained  utterly  bewildered:  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  a  vague  and  confused  dread  of  something  more 
horrible  far  than  death  itself  crossed  his  guilty  mind — he 
trembled  before  the  suggestions  of  his  own  imagination. 

Kodolph  went  on : 

"  Anselm  Duresnel,  I  will  not  sentence  you  to  the  galleys, 
neither  shall  you  die " 

"Then  do  you  intend  sending  me  to  hell?  or  what  are  you 
going  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

"  Listen ! "  said  Rodolph  rising  from  his  seat  with  an  air  of 
menacing  authority.  "  You  have  wickedly  abused  the  great 
bodily  strength  bestowed  upon  you ;  I  will  paralyze  that  strength : 
the  strongest  have  trembled  before  you;  I  will  make  you  hence- 
forward shrink  in  the  presence  of  the  weakest  of  beings. 
Assassin!  murderer!  you  have  plunged  God's  creatures  into 
eternal  night;  your  darkness  shall  commence  even  in  this  life. 
Now — this  very  hour — your  punishment  shall  be  proportioned 
to  your  crimes.  But,"  added  Rodolph,  with  an  accent  of  mourn- 
ful pity,  "  the  terrible  judgment  I  am  about  to  pronounce  will, 
at  least,  leave  the  future  open  to  your  efforts  for  pardon  and  for 
peace.  I  should  be  guilty  as  you  are  were  I,  in  punishing  you, 
to  seek  only  for  vengeance,  just  as  is  my  right  to  demand  it: 
far  from  being  unrelenting  as  death,  your  sentence  shall  bring 
forth  good  fruits  for  hereafter;  far  from  destroying  your  soul, 
it  shall  help  you  to  seek  its  salvation.  If,  to  prevent  you  from 
further  violating  the  commandments  of  your  Maker,  I  forever 
deprive  you  of  the  beauties  of  this  outer  world — if  I  plunge 
you  into  impenetrable  darkness,  with  no  other  companion  than 
the  remembrance  of  your  crimes,  it  is  that  you  may  incessantly 
contemplate  their  enormity.  Yes,  separated  forever  from  this 
external  world,  your  thoughts  must  needs  revert  to  yourself,  and 
your  vision  dwell  internally  upon  the  bygone  scenes  of  your 
ill-spent  life;  and  I  am  not  without  hope  that  such  a  mental 
and  constantly  presented  picture  will  send  the  blush  of  shame 
even  upon  your  hardened  features,  that  your  soul,  deadened  as  it 
now  is  to  every  good  and  holy  impulse,  will  become  softened 
and  tender  by  repentance.  Your  language,  too,  will  be  changed, 
and  good  and  prayerful  words  take  place  of  those  daring  and 
blasphemous  expressions  which  now  disgrace  your  lips.  You 
are  brutal  and  overbearing,  because  you  are  strong;  you  will 
become  mild  and  gentle  when  you  are  deprived  of  that  strength. 
Now  your  heart  scoffs  at  the  very  mention  of  repentance,  but 


THE  PUNISHMENT.  135 

the  day  will  come  when,  bowed  to  the  earth  with  deep  contrition, 
you  will  bewail  your  victims  in  dust  and  ashes.  You  have 
degraded  the  intelligence  placed  within  you  by  a  supreme  power 
— you  have  reduced  it  to  the  brutal  instincts  of  rapine  and 
murder;  from  a  man  formed  after  the  image  of  his  Creator, 
you  have  made  yourself  a  beast  of  prey:  one  day,  as  I  trust  and 
believe,  that  intelligence  will  be  purified  by  remorse,  and 
rendered  again  guiltless  through  divine  expiation.  You,  more 
inhuman  than  the  beast  which  perisheth,  have  trampled  on  the- 
tender  feelings  by  which  even  animals  are  actuated — you  have 
been  the  destroyer  of  your  partner  and  your  offspring.  After 
a  long  life,  entirely  devoted  to  the  expiation  of  your  crimes,  you 
may  venture  to  implore  of  the  Almighty  the  great  though 
unmerited  happiness  of  obtaining  the  pardon  of  your  wife  and 
son,  and  dying  in  their  presence." 

As  Eodolph  uttered  these  last  words  his  voice  trembled  with 
emotion,  and  he  was  obliged  to  conclude. 

The  Schoolmaster's  terrors  had,  during  this  long  discourse, 
entirely  yielded  to  an  opinion  that  he  was  only  to  be  subjected 
to  a  long  lecture  on  morality,  and  so  forth,  and  then  discharged 
upon  his  own  promise  of  amendment;  for  the  many  mysterious 
words  uttered  by  Eodolph  he  looked  upon  as  mere  vague  expres- 
sions intended  to  alarm  him — nothing  more.  Still  further 
reassured  by  the  mild  tone  in  which  Bodolph  had  addressed 
him,  the  ruffian  assumed  his  usually  insolent  air  and  manner 
as  he  said,  bursting  into  a  loud  and  vulgar  laugh, 

"  Well  done,  upon  my  word !  A  very  good  sermon,  and  very 
well  spoken !  Only  we  must  recollect  where  we  leave  off  in  our 
moral  catechism,  that  we  may  begin  all  right  next  lesson-day. 
Come,  let  us  have  something  lively  now.  What  do  you  say, 
master;  will  you  guess  a  charade  or  two,  just  to  enliven  us  a 
bit?" 

Instead  of  replying,  Rodolph  addressed  the  black  doctor: 

"  Proceed,  David !  And  if  I  do  wrong,  may  the  Almighty 
punish  me  alone !  " 

The  Negro  rang:  two  men  entered.  David  pointed  to  a  side- 
door,  which  opened  into  an  adjoining  closet. 

The  chair  in  which  the  Schoolmaster  remained  bound,  so  as  to 
be  incapable  of  the  smallest  movement,  was  then  rolled  into  the 
anteroom. 

"Are  you  going  to  murder  me,  then?  Mercy!  mercy!" 
shrieked  the  wretched  man,  as  he  was  being  removed. 

"  Gag  him !  "  cried  the  Negro,  entering  the  closet. 

Eodolph  and  the  Chourineur  were  left  alone. 


136  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Monsieur  Rodolph,"  said  the  Chourineur,  pale  and  trem- 
bling, "  M.  Rodolph,  what  is  going  to  be  done?  I  never  felt  so 
frightened.  Pray  speak:  I  must  be  dreaming,  surely.  What 
have  they  done  to  the  Schoolmaster?  He  does  not  cry  out — all 
is  so  silent :  it  makes  me  more  fearful  still ! " 

At  this  moment  David  issued  from  the  cabinet;  his  com- 
plexion had  that  livid  hue  peculiar  to  the  Negro  countenance, 
while  his  lips  were  ashy  pale. 

•  The  men  who  had  conveyed  the  Schoolmaster  into  the  closet 
now  replaced  him,  still  bound  in  his  chair,  on  the  spot  he  had 
previously  occupied  in  Rodolph's  presence. 

"  Unbind  him,  and  remove  the  gag !  "  exclaimed  David. 

There  was  a  moment  of  fearful  sile'nce  while  the  two 
attendants  relieved  the  Schoolmaster  of  his  gag  and  untied  the 
cords  which  bound  him  to  the  chair.  As  the  last  ligature  gave 
way  he  sprung  up,  his  hideous  countenance  expressing  rage, 
horror,  and  alarm.  He  advanced  one  step  with  extended  hands, 
then  falling  back  into  the  chair  he  uttered  a  cry  of  unspeakable 
agony,  and,  raising  his  hands  towards  the  ceiling,  exclaimed, 
with  maddened  fury, 

"Blind,  by  Heaven!" 

"  Give  him  this  pocket-book,  David,"  said  Rodolph. 

The  Negro  placed  a  small  pocket-book  in  the  trembling  hands 
of  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  You  will  find  in  that  pocket-book  wherewithal  to  provide 
yourself  with  a  home  and  the  means  of  living  for  the  remainder 
of  your  days.  Go,  seek  out  some  safe  and  solitary  dwelling, 
where,  by  humble  repentance,  you  may  seek  to  propitiate  an 
offended  God!  You  are  free!  Go  and  repent;  the  Lord  is 
merciful,  and  His  ears  are  ever  open  to  such  as  truly  re- 
pent." 

"  Blind !  quite  blind  !  "  repeated  the  Schoolmaster,  mechan- 
ically grasping  the  pocket-book. 

"  Open  the  doors — let  him  depart !  "  said  Rodolph. 

"  Blind !  blind ! "  repeated  the  bewildered  and  discomfited 
ruffian. 

"  You  are  free ;  you  have  the  means  of  providing  for  yourself : 
begone ! " 

"And  whither  am  I  to  go?"  exclaimed  he,  with  the  most 
unbounded  rage.  "  You  have  taken  away  my  sight ;  how,  then, 
do  I  know  in  which  direction  to  go  ?  Call  you  not  this  a  crime 
thus  to  abuse  your  power  over  one  unhappily  in  your  hands  ?  thus 

"  To  abuse  my  power ! "  repeated  Rodolph,  in  a  solemn  voice. 


THE  PUNISHMENT.  137 

"  And  how  have  you  employed  the  power  granted  to  you  ?  how 
used  your  superior  strength  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Death !  how  gladly  would  I  now  accept  you  !  "  cried  the 
wretched  man.  "  To  be  henceforward  at  every  one's  mercy — to 
fear  the  weakest,  the  smallest  object ! — a  child  might  now  master 
me !  Gracious  God !  what  will  become  of  me  ?  " 

"  You  have  plenty  of  money." 

"  It  will  be  taken  from  me ! "  cried  the  ruffian. 

"  Mark  those  words — '  It  will  be  taken  from  me ! '  See  how 
they  fill  you  with  fear  and  dread !  You  have  plundered  so 
many,  unmindful  of  their  helpless,  destitute  condition, — 
begone ! " 

"For  the  love  of  God,"  cried  the  Schoolmaster,  in  a  suppliant 
tone,  "  let  some  person  lead  me  forth !  What  will  become  of  me 
in  the  streets?  Oh,  in  mercy  kill  me!  take  my  miserable  life! 
but  do  not  turn  me  out  thus  wretched,  thus  helpless !  Kill,  for 
pity's  sake,  and  save  me  from  being  crushed  beneath  the  first 
vehicle  I  encounter !  " 

"  No !     Live  and  repent." 

"  Repent ! "  shouted  the  Schoolmaster,  in  a  fearful  voice. 
"  Never !  I  will  live  for  vengeance — for  deep  and  fearful 
vengeance !  "  And  again  he  threw  himself  from  the  chair,  hold- 
ing his  clenched  .fists,  in  a  menacing  attitude,  towards  the 
ceiling,  as  though  calling  upon  Heaven  to  witness  the  fixedness 
of  his  resolve.  In  an  instant  his  step  faltered;  he  again 
hesitated,  as  though  fearful  of  a  thousand  dangers. 

"  Alas !  alas !  I  cannot  proceed — I  dare  not  move !  And  I, 
lately  so  strong  and  so  dreaded  by  all — look  at  me  now ! 
Yet  no  one  pities  me — no  one  cares  for  me — no  hand  is  stretched 
out  to  help  the  wretched  blind  upon  his  lonely  way ! " 

It  is  impossible  to  express  the  stupefaction  and  alarm  expressed 
by  the  countenance  of  the  Chourineur  during  this  terrible  scene. 
I! is  rough  features  exhibited  the  deepest  compassion  for  his 
fallen  foe,  and  approaching  Rodolph  he  said,  in  a  low  tone, 

"  Monsieur  Rodolph,  he  was  an  accomplished  villain,  and  has 
only  got  what  he  richly  deserves :  he  wanted  to  murder  me  a  little 
while  ago,  too.  But  he  is  now  blind — he  does  not  even  know  how 
to  find  his  way  out  of  the  house,  and  he  may  be  crushed  to  death 
in  the  streets :  may  I  lead  him  to  some  safe  place,  where,  at  least, 
he  may  remain  quiet  for  a  time?" 

"Nobly  said!"  replied  Rodolph,  kindly  pressing  the  hand 
of  the  Chourineur.  "  Go,  my  worthy  fellow !  Go  with  him,  by 
all  means ! " 


138  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

The  Chourineur  approached  the  Schoolmaster  and  laid  his 
hand  on  his  shoulder:  the  miserable  villain  started. 

"  Who  touches  me  ?  "  asked  he,  in  a  husky  voice. 

"  It  is  I." 

"I?  who?    Who  are  you— friend  or  foe?" 

"  The  Chourineur." 

"  And  you  have  come  to  avenge  yourself  now  you  find  I  am 
incapable  of  protecting  myself,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  Here,  take  my  arm :  you  cannot  find 
the  way  out  by  yourself,  let  me  lead  you — there " 

"You,  Chourineur?     You!" 

"  Yes,  for  all  you  doubt  it :  but  you  vex  me  by  not  seeming  to 
like  my  help.  Come — hold  tight  by  me:  I  will  see  you  all 
right  before  I  leave  you." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  you  do  not  mean  me  some  harm  ?  that  you 
are  only  laying  a  trap  to  ensnare  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  such  a  scoundrel  as  to  take  advantage  of  your 
misfortune.  But  let  us  begone.  Come  on,  old  fellow ;  it  will  be 
daylight  directly." 

"  Day !  which  I  shall  never  more  behold !  Day  and  night  to 
me  are  henceforward  all  the  same !  "  exclaimed  the  Schoolmaster, 
in  such  piteous  tones  that  Rodolph,  unable  longer  to  endure 
this  scene,  abruptly  retired,  followed  by  David,  who  first  dis- 
missed his  two  assistants. 

The  Chourineur  and  the  Schoolmaster  remained  alone.  After 
a  lengthened  silence  the  latter  spoke  first,  by  inquiring  whether 
it  were  really  true  that  the  pocket-book  presented  to  him  con- 
tained money? 

"  Yes,  I  can  positively  speak  to  its  containing  five  thousand 
francs,"  replied  the  Chourineur,  "  since  I  put  them  in  it  with 
my  own  hand.  With  that  sum  you  could  easily  place  yourself 
to  board  with  some  quiet,  good  sort  of  people,  who  would  look 
to  you — in  some  retired  spot  in  the  country,  where  you  might 
pass  your  days  happily.  Or  would  you  like  me  to  take  you  to 
the  ogress's  ?  " 

"  She !  she  would  not  leave  me  a  rap." 

"  Well,  then,  will  you  go  to  Bras  Rouge  ?  " 

"  No,  no !     He  would  poison  me  first  and  rob  me  afterwards." 

"  Well,  then,  where  shall  I  take  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  not.  Happily  for  both  you  are  no  thief,  Chourineur. 
Here,  take  my  pocket-book,  and  conceal  it  carefully  in  my  waist- 
coat, that  La  Chouette  may  not  see  it:  she  would  plunder  me 
of  every  sous." 

"  Oh,  bless  you !  the  Chouette  is  quite  safe  just  now :  she  lies 


THE  PUNISHMENT.  139 

in  the  Hopital  Beaujon.  While  I  was  struggling  with  you  both 
to-night  I  happened  to  dislocate  her  leg,  so  she's  obliged  to  lie 
up  for  the  present." 

"  But  what,  in  Heaven's  name,  shall  I  do  with  this  black 
curtain  continually  before  my  eyes?  In  vain  I  try  to  push  it 
away;  it  is  still  there,  fixed,  immovable;  and  on  its  surface  I  see 
the  pale,  ghastly  features  of  those " 

He  shuddered,  and  said  in  a  low,  hoarse  voice,  "  Chourineur, 
did  I  quite  do  for  that  man  last  night  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  observed  the  robber.  And  then,  after 
some  minutes'  silence,  he  exclaimed,  under  a  fresh  impulse  of 
ungovernable  fury,  "  And  it  is  you  I  have  to  thank  for  all  this ! 
Rascal!  scoundrel!  I  hate  you!  But  for  you,  I  should  have 
'  stiffened '  my  man  and  walked  off  with  his  money.  My  very 
blindness  I  owe  to  you:  my  curses  upon  you  for  your  meddling 
interference!  But  through  you  I  should  have  had  my  blessed 
eyes  to  see  my  own  way  with.  How  do  I  know  what  devil's 
trick  you  are  planning  at  this  moment  ?" 

"  Try  to  forget  all  that  is  past — it  can't  be  helped  now ;  and 
do  not  put  yourself  in  such  a  terrible  way — it  is  really  very  bad 
for  you.  Come,  come  along — now,  no  nonsense — will  you  ?  yes  or 
no? — because  I  am  regularly  done  up,  and  must  get  a  short 
snooze  somewhere.  I  can  tell  you  I  have  had  a  bellyful  of  such 
doings,  and  to-morrow  I  shall  get  back  to  my  timber-pile,  and 
earn  an  honest  dinner  before  I  eat  it.  I  am  only  waiting  to 
take  yon  wherever  you  decide  upon  going,  and  then  on  goes 
my  nightcap  and  I  goes  to  sleep." 

"  But  how  can  I  tell  you  where  to  take  me,  when  I  do  not 

know  myself?  My  lodging No,  no,  that  will  not  do:  I 

should  be  obliged  to  tell " 

"Well,  then,  hark  ye.  Will  you,  for  a  day  or  two,  make 
shift  with  my  crib?  I  may  meet  with  some  decent  sort  of 
people,  who,  not  knowing  who  you  really  are,  would  receive  you  as 
a  boarder;  and  we  might  say  you  were  a  confirmed  invalid,  and 
required  great  care  and  perfect  retirement.  Now  I  think 'of  it, 
there  is  a  person  of  my  acquaintance,  living  at  Port  St.  Nicolas, 
has  a  mother,  a  very  worthy  woman,  but  in  humble  circum- 
stances, residing  at  St.  Mande:  very  likely  she  would  be  glad 
to  take  charge  of  you.  What  do  you  say — will  you  come  or 
not?" 

"  One  may  trust  you,  Chourineur :  I  am  not  at  all  fearful  of 
going,  money  and  all,  to  your  place ;  happily  you  have  kept  your- 
self honest,  amidst  all  the  evil  example  others  have  set  you." 


14:0  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Ay,  and  even  bore  the  taunts  and  jests  you  used  to  heap 
upon  me,  because  I  would  not  turn  prig  like  yourself." 

"  Alas !  who  could  foresee  ?  " 

"  Now,  you  see,  if  I  had  listened  to  you,  instead  of  trying  to 
be  of  real  service  to  you  I  should  clean  you  out  of  all  your 
cash/' 

"True,  true.  But  you  are  a  downright  good  fellow,  and 
have  neither  malice  nor  hatred  in  your  heart,"  said  the  unhappy 
Schoolmaster,  in  a  tone  of  deep  dejection  and  humility.  "  You 
are  a  vast  deal  better  to  me  than,  I  fear,  I  should  have  been  to 
you  under  the  same  circumstances." 

"  I  believe  you,  too.  Why,  M.  Eodolph  himself  told  me  I  had 
both  heart  and  honor." 

"But  who  the  devil  is  this  M.  Eodolph?"  exclaimed  the 
Schoolmaster,  breaking  out  afresh  at  the  mention  of  his  name. 
"  He  is  not  a  man ;  he  is  a  monster — a  fiend — a " 

"  Hold,  hold  !  "  cried  the  Chourineur.  "  Now  you  are  going 
to  have  another  fit,  which  is  bad  for  you  and  very  disagreeable 
to  me,  because  it  makes  you  abuse  my  friends.  Come,  are  you 
ready?  Shall  we  set  forth  on  our  journey? " 

"  We  are  going  to  your  lodging,  are  we  not,  Chourineur  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,  if  you  are  agreeable." 

"  And  you  swear  to  me  that  you  bear  me  no  ill-will  for  the 
events  of  the  last  twelve  hours  ?  " 

"  Swear  it  ?  Of  course  I  swear  it.  Why,  I  have  no  ill-will 
against  you  nor  anybody." 

"  And  you  are  certain  that  he  (the  Man,  I  mean)  is  not 
dead?" 

"  I  am  as  sure  of  it  as  that  I  am  living  myself." 

"  That  will,  at  least,  give  me  one  crime  the  less  to  answer  for. 

If  they  only  knew And  that  little  old  man  of  the  Eue  du 

Eoule — and  that  woman  of  the  Canal  Saint  Martin But  it 

is  useless  thinking  of  all  those  things  now;  I  have  enough  to 
occupy  my  thoughts  without  trying  to  recall  past  misfortunes. 
Blind !  blind  !  "  repeated  the  miserable  wretch,  as,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  the  Chourineur,  he  slowly  took  his  departure  from  the 
house  in  the  Alice  des  Veuves. 


THE  ISLE-ADAM.  141 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  ISLE-ADAM. 

A  MONTH  had  elapsed  since  the  occurrence  of  the  events  we 
have  just  narrated.  We  now  conduct  the  reader  into  the  little 
town  of  the  Isle-Adam,  situated  in  a  delightful  locality  on  the 
hanks  of  the  Oise,  and  at  the  foot  of  a  forest. 

The  least  things  become  great  events  in  the  country;  and  so 
the  idlers  of  Isle-Adam,  who  were  on  the  morning  before  us 
walking  in  the  square  before  the  church,  were  very  anxiously 
bestirring  themselves  to  learn  when  the  individual  would  arrive 
who  had  recently  become  the  purchaser  of  the  most  eligible 
premises  for  a  butcher  in  that  town,  and  which  were  exactly 
opposite  to  the  church. 

One  of  those  idlers,  more  inquisitive  than  his  companions, 
went  and  asked  the  butcher-boy,  who,  with  a  merry  face  and 
active  hands,  was  very  busy  in  completing  the  arrangements  of 
the  shop.  This  lad  replied  that  he  did  not  know  who  was  the 
new  proprietor,  for  he  had  bought  the  property  through  an 
agent.  At  this  moment  two  persons,  who  had  come  from  Paris 
in  a  cabriolet,  alighted  at  the  door  of  the  shop. 

The  one  was  Murphy,  quite  cured  of  his  wound,  and  the 
other  the  Chourineur.  At  the  risk  of  repeating  a  vulgar  saying, 
we  will  assert  that  the  impression  produced  by  dress  is  so 
powerful,  that  the  guest  of  the  "  cribs  "  of  the  Cite  was  hardly  to 
be  recognized  in  his  present  attire.  His  countenance  had  under- 
gone the  same  change:  he  had  put  off  with  his  rags  his  savage, 
coarse,  and  vulgar  air ;  and  to  see  him  walk  with  both  his  hands  in 
the  pockets  of  his  long  and  warm  cost  of  dark  broadcloth,  he 
might  have  been  taken  for  one  of  the  most  inoffensive  citizens 
in  the  world. 

"'Faith,  my  fine  fellow,  the  way  was  long  and  the  cold 
excessive ;  were  they  not  ?  " 

"Why,  I  really  did  not  perceive  it,  M.  Murphy:  I  am  too 
happy,  and  joy  keeps  one  warm.  Besides,  when  I  say  happy, 
why " 

"What?" 

"Yesterday  you  came  to  seek  for  me  at  the  Port  Saint 
Nicolas,  where  I  was  unloading  as  hard  as  I  could  to  keep  myself 
warm.  I  had  not  seen  you  since  the  night  when  the  white- 
haired  Negro  had  put  out  the  Schoolmaster's  eyes.  By  Jove! 


142  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

it  quite  shook  me,  that  affair  did.  And  M.  Rodolph,  what  a 
countenance! — he  who  looked  so  mild  and  gentle!  I  was  quite 
frightened  at  that  moment;  I  was,  indeed " 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"  You  said  to  me,  '  Good-day,  Chourineur.'  '  Good-day,  M. 
Murphy/  says  I.  '  What,  you  are  up  again,  I  see !  So  much 
the  better — so  much  the  better.  And  M.  Rodolph  ? '  '  He  was 
obliged  to  leave  Paris  some  days  after  the  affair  of  the  Allee  des 
Veuves,  and  he  forgot  you,  my  man.'  'Well,  M.  Murphy,  I 
can  only  say  that  if  M.  Rodolph  has  forgotten  me,  why — I  shall 
be  very  sorry  for  it,  that's  all.'  'I  meant  to  say,  my  good 
fellow,  that  he  had  forgotten  to  recompense  your  services,  but 
that  he  should  always  remember  them/  '  So,  M.  Murphy,  those 
words  cheered  me  up  again  directly.  Tonnerre!  I — I  shall 
never  forget  him.  He  told  me  I  had  heart  and  honor — that's 
enough." 

"  Unfortunately,  my  lad,  Monseigneur  left  without  giving  any 
orders  about  you.  I  have  nothing  but  what  Monseigneur  gives 
me,  and  I  am  unable  to  repay  as  I  could  wish  all  that  I  owe 
you  personally." 

"  Come,  come,  M.  Murphy,  you  are  jesting  with  me." 

"But  why  the  devil  did  you  not  come  back  to  the  Allee  des 
Veuves  after  that  fatal  night?  Then  Monseigneur  would  not 
have  left  without  thinking  of  you." 

"  Why,  M.  Rodolph  did  not  tell  me  to  do  so,  and  I  thought 
that,  perhaps,  he  had  no  further  occasion  for  me." 

"  But  you  might  have  supposed  that  he  would,  at  least, 
desire  to  express  his  gratitude  to  you." 

"  Did  you  not  me  tell  that  M.  Rodolph  has  forgotten  me,  M. 
Murphy?" 

"  Well,  well,  don't  let  us  say  another  word  about  it ;  only  I 
have  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  find  you  out.  You  do  not 
now  go  to  the  ogress's  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  from  some  foolish  notions  I  have  had." 

"Very    well.     But    to    return    to    what    you    were    telling 

"To  what,  M.  Murphy?" 

"You  told  me,  I  am  glad  I  have  found  you,  and  still 
happy,  perhaps " 

"  Oh,  yes,  M.  Murphy !  Why,  you  see,  when  you  came  to 
where  I  was  at  work  at  the  timber-yard,  you  said,  '  My  lad,  I  am 
not  rich,  but  I  can  procure  you  a  situation  where  your  work  will 


THE  ISLE-ADAM.  143 

be  easier  than  on  the  Quai,  and  where  you  will  gain  four  francs 
a-day/  Four  francs  a-day !  Vive  la  Charte !  I  could  not 
believe  it :  'twas  the  pay  of  an  adjutant  sub-officer ! ! !  I  replied, 
*  That's  the  very  thing  for  me,  M.  Murphy ! '  but  you  said  then 
that  I  must  not  look  so  like  a  beggar,  as  that  would  frighten  the 
employer  to  whom  you  would  take  me.  I  answered,  '  I  have 
not  the  means  of  dressing  otherwise.'  You  said  to  me,  '  Come 
to  the  Temple/  I  followed  you.  I  chose  the  most  spicy  attire 
that  Mother  Hubart  had — you  advanced  me  the  money  to  pay 
her — and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  was  as  smart  as  a  landlord 
or  a  dentist.  You  appointed  me  to  meet  you  this  morning  at 
the  Porte  Saint  Denis,  at  daybreak:  I  found  you  there  in  a 
cab,  and  here  we  are." 

"Well,  do  you  find  anything  to  regret  in  all  this?" 

"  Why,  I'll  tell  you,  M.  Murphy.  You  see,  to  be  dressed  in 
this  way  spoils  a  fellow;  and  so,  you  see,  when  I  put  on  again 
my  old  smockfrock  and  trousers  I  sha'n't  like  it.  And  then,  to 
gain  four  francs  a-day — I,  who  never  earned  but  two — and  that 
all  at  once !  why,  I  seem  to  have  made  too  great  a  start  all  of 
a  sudden,  and  that  it  cannot  last.  I  would  rather  sleep  all  my 
life  on  the  wretched  straw  bed  in  my  cock-loft,  than  sleep  five 
or  six  nights  only  in  a  good  bed.  That's  my  view  of  the  thing." 

"And  you  are  by  no  means  peculiar  in  your  view:  but  the 
best  thing  is  to  sleep  always  in  a  good  bed." 

"  And  no  mistake :  it  is  better  to  have  a  bellyful  of  victuals 
every  day  than  to  starve  with  hunger.  Ah !  here  is  a  butchery 
here,"  said  the  Chourineur,  as  he  listened  to  the  blows  of  the 
chopper  which  the  boy  was  using,  and  observed  the  quarters  of 
beef  through  the  curtains. 

"  Yes,  my  lad ;  it  belongs  to  a  friend  of  mine.  Would  you 
like  to  see  it  whilst  the  horse  just  recovers  his  wind  ?  " 

"  I  really  should,  for  it  reminds  me  of  my  boyish  days,  if  it 
was  only  when  I  had  Montfaugon  for  a  slaughter-house  and 
broken-down  horses  for  cattle.  It  is  droll,  but  if  I  had  the 
means  a  butcher's  is  the  trade  in  which  I  should  set  up,  for  I 
like  it.  To  go  on  a  good  nag  to  buy  cattle  at  fairs — to  return 
home  to  one's  own  fireside,  to  warm  yourself  if  cold,  or  dry 
yourself  if  wet — to  find  your  housekeeper,  or  a  good,  jolly, 
plump  wife,  cheerful  and  pleasant,  with  a  parcel  of  children 
to  feel  in  your  pockets  to  see  if  you  have  brought  them  home 
anything!  And  then,  in  the  morning,  in  the  slaughter-house, 
to  seize  an  ox  by  the  horns,  particularly  when  he's  fierce — nom  de 
nom! — he  must  be  fierce — then  to  put  on  the  ring,  to  cleave 
him  down,  cut  him  up,  dress  him — Tonnerre!  that  would  have 


144  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

been  my  ambition,  as  it  was  the  Goualeuse's  to  suck  barley-sugar 
when  she  was  a  little  'un.  By  the  way,  that  poor  girl,  M. 
Murphy — not  seeing  her  any  more  at  the  ogress's,  I  supposed 
that  M.  Rodolph  had  taken  her  away  from  there.  That's  a  good 
action,  M.  Murphy.  Poor  child !  she  never  liked  to  do  wrong — 

she  was  so  young!  And  then  the  habit Ah,  M.  Rodolph 

has  behaved  quite  right ! " 

"  I  am  of  your  opinion.  But  will  you  come  into  the  shop 
until  our  horse  has  rested  a  while  ?  " 

The  Chourineur  and  Murphy  entered  the  shop,  and  then 
went  to  see  the  yard,  where  three  splendid  oxen  and  a  score 
of  sheep  were  fastened  up;  they  then  visited  the  stable,  the 
chaise-house,  the  slaughter-house,  the  lofts,  and  the  out-buildings 
of  the  house,  which  were  all  in  excellent  order,  and  kept  with 
a  cleanliness  and  care  which  bespoke  regularity  and  easy 
circumstances. 

When  they  had  seen  all  but  the  up-stairs,  Murphy  said : 

"You  must  own  that  my  friend  is  a  lucky  fellow.  This 
house  and  property  are  his,  without  counting  a  thousand  crowns 
in  hand  to  carry  on  his  business  with ;  and  he  is,  besides,  only 
thirty-eight,  strong  as  a  bull,  with  an  iron  constitution,  and 
very  fond  of  his  business.  The  industrious  and  civil  journey- 
man that  you  saw  in  the  shop  supplies  his  place,  with  much 
capability,  when  he  goes  to  the  fairs  to  purchase  cattle.  I  say 
again,  is  he  not  a  lucky  fellow?" 

"He  is,  indeed,  M.  Murphy.  But,  you  see,  there  are  lucky 
and  unlucky  people;  and  when  I  think  that  I  am  going  to 
gain  four  francs  a-day,  and  know  how  many  there  are  who  only 
earn  the  half,  or  even  less " 

"  Will  you  come  up  and  see  the  rest  of  the  house?  " 

"With  all  my  heart,  M.  Murphy." 

"  The  person  who  is  about  to  employ  you  is  up-stairs/' 

"  The  person  who  is  going  to  employ  me  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"Why,  then,  didn't  you  tell  me  that  before?" 

"I'll  tell  you " 

"  One  moment,"  said  the  Chourineur,  with  a  downcast  and 
embarrassed  air,  taking  Murphy  by  the  arm ;  "  listen  whilst  I 
say  a  word  to  you,  which  perhaps  M.  Rodolph  did  not  tell  you, 
but  which  I  ought  not  to  conceal  from  the  master  who  employs 
me,  because,  if  he  is  offended  by  it — why  then,  you  see — why, 
afterwards " 

"What  do  you  mean  to  say?" 

"I  mean  to  say " 


RECOMPENSE.  145 

"  Well,  what  ?  " 

"  That  I  am  a  convict,  who  has  served  his  time — that  I  have 
been  at  the  Bagne,"  said  the  Chourineur,  in  low  voice. 

"  Indeed !  "  replied  Murphy. 

"  But  I  never  did  wrong  to  any  one,"  exclaimed  the  Chou- 
rineur; "and  I  would  sooner  die  of  hunger  than  rob:  but  I 
have  done  worse  than  rob,"  he  added,  bending  his  head  down; 
"  I  have  killed  my  fellow-creature  in  a  passion.  But  that  is 
not  all,"  he  continued,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "  I  will  tell 
everything  to  my  employer:  I  would  rather  he  refused  at  first 
than  detected  afterwards.  You  know  him,  and  if  you  think  he 
would  refuse  me,  why,  spare  me  the  refusal  and  I  will  go  as  I 
came." 

"Come  along  with  me,"   said  Murphy. 

The  Chourineur  followed  Murphy  up  the  staircase;  a  door 
opened,  and  they  were  both  in  the  presence  of  Rodolph. 

"  My  good  Murphy,"  said  he,  "  leave  us  together  awhile." 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

RECOMPENSE. 

"  VIVE  LA  CHARTE  !  "  cried  the  Chourineur.  "  How  precious 
glad  I  am  to  see  you  again,  Mister  Eodolph — or,  rather,  my 
lord!" 

"  Good-day,  my  excellent  friend !  I  am  equally  glad  to  see 
you." 

"  Oh,  what  a  joker  M.  Murphy  is ! — he  told  me  you  had  gone 
away.  But  stay,  my  lord " 

«  Call  me  M.  Rodolph ;  I  like  that  best." 

"  Well,  then,  M.  Rodolph,  I  have  to  ask  your  pardon  for  not 
having  been  to  see  you  after  the  night  with  the  Schoolmaster.  I 
see  now  that  I  was  guilty  of  a  great  rudeness ;  but  I  do  not  sup- 
pose that  you  had  any  desire  to  see  me?" 

"  I  forgive  you,"  said  Rodolph,  smiling ;  and  then  added, 
"  Murphy  has  shown  you  all  over  the  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,  M.  Rodolph ;  and  a  fine  house  and  fine  shop  it  is — all 
so  neat  and  so  comfortable!  Talking  of  comfortable,  I  am  the 
man  that  will  be  so,  M.  Rodolph !  M.  Murphy  is  going  to  put 
me  in  the  way  of  earning  four  francs  a  day — yes,  four  francs 
a  day!" 

"  I  have  something  better  than  that  to  propose  to  you,  my  good 
fellow." 


146  THS  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Better !  It's  unpolite  to  contradict  you,  but  I  think  that 
would  be  difficult.  Four  francs  a  day !  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  have  something  better :  for  this  house,  all  that 
it  contains,  the  shop,  and  a  thousand  crowns  which  are  in  this 
pocket-book — all  are  yours." 

The  Chourineur  smiled  with  a  stupid  air,  flattened  his  long- 
napped  between  his  knees,  and  squeezed  it  convulsively,  evidently 
not  understanding  what  Eodolph  said  to  him,  although  his  lan- 
guage was  plain  enough. 

Eodolph,  with  much  kindness,  said  to  him: 

"  I  can  imagine  your  surprise :  but  I  again  repeat,  this  house 
and  this  money  are  yours — they  are  your  property." 

The  Chourineur  became  purple,  passed  his  horny  hand  over 
his  brow,  which  was  bathed  with  perspiration,  and  stammered 
out,  in  a  faltering  voice: 

"  What ! — eh ! — that  is — indeed — my  property !  " 

"  Yes,  your  property :  for  I  bestow  it  all  upon  you.  Do  you 
understand  ?  I  give  it  to  you." 

The  Chourineur  rocked  backwards  and  forwards  on  his  chair, 
scratched  his  head,  coughed,  looked  down  on  the  ground,  and 
made  no  reply.  He  felt  that  the  thread  of  his  ideas  had  escaped 
him.  He  heard  quite  well  what  Eodolph  said  to  him,  and  that 
was  the  very  reason  he  could  not  credit  what  he  heard.  Between 
the  depth  of  misery,  the  degradation  in  which  he  had  always 
existed,  and  the  position  in  which  Eodolph  now  placed  him, 
there  was  an  abyss  so  wide  that  the  service  he  had  rendered  to 
Eodolph,  important  as  it  was,  could  not  fill  it  up. 

"  Does  what  I  give  you,  then,  seem  beyond  your  hopes  ? " 
inquired  Eodolph. 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  Chourineur,  starting  up  suddenly,  "  you 
offer  me  this  house  and  a  great  deal  of  money — to  tempt  me; 
but  I  cannot  take  them:  I  never  robbed  in  my  life.  It  is,  per- 
haps, to  kill:  but  I  have  too  often  dreamed  of  the  sergeant," 
added  he,  in  a  hoarse  tone. 

"  Oh,  the  unfortunate !  "  exclaimed  Eodolph,  with  bitterness. 
"  The  compassion  evinced  for  them  is  so  rare,  that  they  can  only 
explain  liberality  as  a  temptation  to  crime ! " 

Then  addressing  the  Chourineur,  in  a  voice  full  of  gentle- 
ness: 

"  You  judge  me  wrong — you  mistake :  I  shall  require  from  you 
nothing  but  what  is  honorable.  What  I  give  you,  I  give  because 
you  have  deserved  it." 

"  I ! "  said  the  Chourineur,  whose  embarrassments  recom- 
menced ;  "  I  deserve  it !  How  ?  " 


RECOMPENSE.  147 

"  I  will  tell  you.  Abandoned  from  your  infancy — without 
any  knowledge  of  right  or  wrong,  left  to  your  natural  instinct — 
shut  up  for  fifteen  years  in  the  Bagne  with  the  most  desperate 
villains — assailed  by  want  and  wretchedness — compelled  by  your 
own  disgrace,  and  the  opinion  of  honest  men,  to  continue  to 
haunt  the  low  dens  infested  by  the  vilest  malefactors — you  have 
not  only  remained  honest,  but  remorse  for  your  crime  has  out- 
lived the  expiation  which  human  justice  had  inflicted  upon 
you." 

This  simple  and  noble  language  was  a  new  source  of  astonish- 
ment for  the  Chourineur :  he  contemplated  Eodolph  with  respect, 
mingled  with  fear  and  gratitude,  but  was  still  unable  to  con- 
vince himself  that  all  he  heard  was  reality. 

"What,  Monsieur  Rodolph,  because  you  beat  me — because, 
thinking  you  a  workman  like  myself — because  you  spoke  '  slang ' 
as  if  you  had  learned  it  from  your  cradle — I  told  you  my  history 
over  two  bottles  of  wine,  and  afterwards  I  saved  you  from  being 
drowned — you  give  me  a  house — money — I  shall  be  master !  Say 
really,  M.  Rodolph,  once  more,  is  it  possible  ?  " 

"  Believing  me  like  yourself,  you  told  me  your  history  natu- 
rally and  without  concealment,  without  withholding  either  what 
was  culpable  or  generous.  I  have  judged  you,  and  judged  you 
well,  and  I  have  resolved  to  recompense  you." 

"  But,  M .  Rodolph,  it  ought  not  to  be ;  there  are  poor  laborers 
who  have  been  honest  all  their  lives,  and  who " 

"  I  know  it,  and  it  may  be  I  have  done  for  many  others  more 
than  I  am  doing  for  you;  but  if  the  man  who  lives  honestly  in 
the  midst  of  honest  men,  encouraged  by  their  esteem,  deserves 
assistance  and  support,  he  who,  in  spite  of  the  aversion  of  good 
men,  remains  honest  amidst  the  most  infamous  associates  on 
earth — he,  too,  deserves  assistance  and  support.  This  is  not  all : 
you  saved  my  life — you  saved  the  life  of  Murphy,  the  dearest 
friend  I  have ;  and  what  I  do  for  you  is  as  much  the  dictate  of 
personal  gratitude  as  it  is  the  desire  to  withdraw  from  pollution 
a  good  and  generous  nature,  which  has  been  perverted  but  not 
destroyed.  And  that  is  not  all." 

"  What  else  have  I  done,  M.  Rodolph  ?  " 

Rodolph  took  his  hand,  and,  shaking  it  heartily,  said : 

"  Filled  with  commiseration  for  the  mischief  which  had  befal- 
len the  very  man  who  had  tried  just  before  to  kill  you,  you  even 
gave  him  an  asylum  in  your  humble  dwelling — No.  9,  close  to 
Notre  Dame." 

«  You  knew,  then,  where  I  lived,  M.  Rodolph? " 

"  If  you  forget  the  services  you  have  done  to  me,  I  do  not. 


148  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

When  you  left  my  house  you  were  followed,  and  were  seen  to 
enter  there  with  the  Schoolmaster." 

"But  M.  Murphy  told  me  that  you  did  not  know  where  I 
lived,  M.  Rodolph." 

"  I  was  desirous  of  trying  you  still  further :  I  wished  to  know 
if  you  had  disinterestedness  in  your  generosity,  and  I  found 
that,  after  your  courageous  conduct,  you  returned  to  your  hard 
daily  labor,  asking  nothing,  hoping  for  nothing,  not  even  utter- 
ing a  word  of  reproach  for  the  apparent  ingratitude  with  which 
I  repaid  your  services ;  and  when  Murphy  yesterday  proposed  to 
you  employment  a  little  more  profitable  than  that  of  your 
habitual  toil,  you  accepted  it  with  joy,  with  gratitude." 

"  Why,  M.  Rodolph,  do  you  see,  sir,  'four  francs  a  day  are 
always  four  francs  a  day.  As  to  the  service  I  rendered  you,  why, 
it  is  rather  I  who  ought  to  thank  you." 

"How  so?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  M.  Rodolph,"  he  added,  with  a  saddened  air,  "  I 
do  not  forget  that,  since  I  knew  you,  it  was  you  who  said  to  me 
those  two  words — '  You  have  both  HEART  and  HONOR  ! '  It  is 
astonishing  how  I  have  thought  of  that.  They  are  only  two 
little  words,  and  yet  those  two  words  had  that  effect.  But,  in 
truth,  sow  two  small  grains  of  anything  in  the  soil,  and  they 
will  put  forth  shoots." 

This  comparison,  just  and  almost  poetical  as  it  was,  struck 
Rodolph.  In  sooth,  two  words,  but  two  magic  words  for  the 
heart  that  understood  them,  had  almost  suddenly  developed  the 
generous  instincts  which  were  inherent  in  this  energetic  na- 
ture. 

"You  placed  the  Schoolmaster  at  St.  Mande?"  said  Rodolph. 

"  Yes,  M.  Rodolph.  He  made  me  change  his  notes  for  gold, 
and  buy  a  belt,  which  I  sewed  round  his  body,  and  in  which  I 
put  his  mopuses;  and  then,  good-day !  He  boards  for  thirty  sous 
a  day  with  good  people,  to  whom  that  sum  is  of  much  service. 
When  I  have  time  to  leave  my  wood-piles  I  shall  go  and  see  how 
he  gets  on." 

"  Your  wood-piles !  You  forget  your  shop,  and  that  you  are 
here  at  home !  " 

"  Come,  M.  Rodolph,  do  not  amuse  yourself  by  jesting  with  a 
poor  devil  like  me :  you  have  had  your  fun  in  proving  me,  as  you 
term  it.  My  house  and  my  shop  are  songs  to  the  same  tune. 
You  said  to  yourself,  'Let  us  see  if  this  Chourineur  is  such  a 
gulpin  as  to  believe  that  I  will  make  him  such  a  present.' 
Enough,  enough,  M.  Rodolph :  you  are  a  wag,  and  there's  an 
end  of  the  matter." 


RECOMPENSE.  149 

rAnd  he  laughed  long,  loud,  and  heartily. 

"  But,  once  more,  believe " 

"  If  I  "were  to  believe  you,  then  you  would  say,  '  Poor  Chou- 
rineur !  go !  you  are  a  trouble  to  me  now.' " 

Rodolph  began  to  be  really  troubled  how  to  convince  the 
Chourineur,  and  said  in  a  solemn,  impressive,  and  almost  severe 
tone: 

"  I  never  make  sport  of  the  gratitude  and  sympathy  with  which 
noble  conduct  inspires  me.  I  have  said  this  house  and  this  es- 
tablishment are  yours,  if  they  suit  you,  for  the  bargain  is  con- 
ditional. I  swear  to  you,  on  my  honor,  all  this  belongs  to  you; 
and  I  make  you  a  present  of  it,  for  the  reasons  I  have  already 
given." 

The  dignified  and  firm  tone,  and  the  serious  expression  of  the 
features  of  Rodolph,  at  length  convinced  the  Chourineur.  For 
some  moments  he  looked  at  his  protector  in  silence,  and  then 
said,  in  a  voice  of  deep  emotion, 

"  I  believe  you,  my  lord,  and  I  thank  you  much.  A  poor  man 
like  me  cannot  make  fine  speeches,  but  once  more,  indeed,  on  my 
word,  I  thank  you  very  much.  All  I  can  say  is,  that  I  will 
never  refuse  assistance  to  the  unhappy;  because  Hunger  and 
Misery  are  ogresses  of  the  same  sort  as  those  who  laid  hands  on 
the  poor  Goualeuse:  and,  once  in  that  sink,  it  is  not  every  one 
that  has  the  fist  strong  enough  to  pull  you  out  again." 

"  My  worthy  fellow,  you  cannot  prove  your  gratitude  more 
than  in  speaking  to  me  thus." 

"  So  much  the  better,  my  lord;  for  else  I  should  have  a  hard 
job  to  prove  it." 

"  Come,  now,  let  us  visit  your  house :  my  good  old  Murphy 
has  had  the  pleasure,  and  I  should  like  it  also/' 

Rodolph  and  the  Chourineur  came  down-stairs.  At  the  mo- 
ment they  reached  the  yard,  the  shopman,  addressing  the  Chou- 
rineur, said  to  him,  respectfully, 

"  Since  you,  sir,  are  to  be  my  master,  I  beg  to  tell  you  that 
our  custom  is  capital.  We  have  no  more  cutlets  or  legs  of  mut- 
ton left,  and  we  must  kill  a  sheep  or  two  directly." 

" Parbleu!"  said  Rodolph  to  the  Chourineur;  "here  is  a  cap- 
ital opportunity  for  exercising  your  skill.  I  should  like  to 
have  the  first  sample — the  open  air  has  given  me  an  appetite,  and 
I  will  taste  your  cutlets." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  M.  Rodolph,"  said  the  Chourineur,  in 
a  cheerful  voice:  "you  flatter  me,  but  I  will  do  my  best." 

"Shall  I  bring  two  sheep  to  the  slaughter-house,  master?" 
asked  the  journeyman. 


150  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Yes ;  and  bring  a  well-sharpened  knife,  not  too  thin  in  the 
blade  and  strong  in  the  back." 

"  I  have  just  what  you  want,  master.  There,  you  could  shave 
with  it.  Take  it " 

"  Tonnerre,  M.  Eodolph ! "  said  the  Chourineur,  taking  off 
his  upper  coat  with  haste,  and  turning  up  his  shirt-sleeves,  which 
displayed  a  pair  of  arms  like  a  prize-fighter's ;  "  this  reminds  me 
of  my  boyish  days  and  the  slaughter-house.  You  shall  see  how 
I  handle  a  knife!  Norn  de  nom!  I  wish  I  was  at  it.  The 
knife,  lad!  the  knife!  That's  it;  I  see  you  know  your  trade. 
This  is  a  blade!  who  will  have  it?  Tonnerre!  with  a  tool  like 
this  I  could  face  a  wild  bull." 

And  the  Chourineur  brandished  his  knife — his  eyes  began  to 
fill  with  blood;  the  beast  was  regaining  the  mastery:  the  in- 
stinct and  thirst  for  blood  reappeared  in  all  the  fulness  of  their 
fearful  predominance. 

The  butchery  was  in  the  yard — a  vaulted,  dark  place,  paved 
with  stones,  and  lighted  by  a  small,  narrow  opening,  at  the  top. 

The  man  drove  one  of  the  sheep  to  the  door. 

"  Shall  I  fasten  him  to  the  ring,  master  ?  " 

"  Fasten  him !  tonnerre !  and  I  with  my  knees  at  liberty  ? 
Oh !  no ;  I  will  hold  him  here  as  fast  as  if  in  a  vice.  Give  me  the 
beast,  and  go  back  to  the  shop." 

The  journeyman  obeyed.  Eodolph  was  left  alone  with  the 
Chourineur,  and  watched  him  attentively,  almost  anxiously. 

"  Now,  then,  to  work ! "  said  he. 

"  Oh,  I  sha'n't  be  long.  Tonnerre!  you  shall  see  how  I  handle 
a  knife !  My  hands  burn,  and  I  have  a  singing  in  my  ears ;  my 
temples  beat,  as  they  used  when  I  was  going  to  see  red.  Come 
here,  thou Ah,  Madelon  I  let  me  stab  you  dead  !  " 

Then  his  eyes  sparkled  with  a  fierce  delight,  and,  no  longer 
conscious  of  the  presence  of  Rodolph,  the  Chourineur  lifted  the 
sheep  without  an  effort;  with  one  spring  he  carried  it  off  as  a 
wolf  would  do,  bounding  towards  his  lair  with  his  prey. 

Eodolph  followed  him,  and  leaned  on  one  of  the  wings  of  the 
door,  which  he  closed.  The  butchery  was  dark :  one  strong  ray 
of  light  falling  straight  down  lighted  up,  a  la  Rembrandt,  the 
rugged  features  of  the  Chourineur,  his  light  hair,  and  his  red 
whiskers.  Stooping  now,  holding  in  his  teeth  a  long  knife,  which 
glittered  in  the  "  darkness  visible,"  he  drew  the  sheep  between 
his  legs,  and,  when  he  had  adjusted  it,  took  it  by  the  head, 
stretched  out  its  neck,  and  cut  its  throat. 

At  the  instant  when  the  sheep  felt  the  keen  blade  it  gave  one 
gentle,  low,  and  pitiful  bleat,  and,  raising  its  dying  eyes  to  the 


THE  DEPARTURE.  151 

Chourineur,  two  spirts  of  blood  jetted  forth  into  the  face  of  its 
slayer.  The  cry,  the  look,  the  blood  that  spouted  out,  made  a 
fearful  impression  on  the  man.  His  knife  fell  from  his  hands; 
his  features  grew  livid,  contracted,  and  horrible,  beneath  the 
blood  that  covered  them;  his  eyes  expanded,  his  hair  stiffened; 
and  then  retreating,  with  a  gesture  of  horror  he  cried,  in  a 
suffocating  voice,  "  Oh,  the  sergeant !  the  sergeant ! " 

Eodolph  hastened  to  him:  "Recover  yourself,  my  good  fel- 
low ! " 

"  There !  there !  the  sergeant !  "  repeated  the  Chourineur,  re- 
treating step  by  step,  with  his  eye  fixed  and  haggard,  and  point- 
ing with  his  finger  as  if  at  some  invisible  phantom.  Then  utter- 
ing a  fearful  cry,  as  if  the  specter  had  touched  him,  he  rushed  to 
the  bottom  of  the  butchery,  into  the  darkest  corner;  and  there, 
with  his  face,  breast,  and  arms  against  the  wall,  as  if  he  would 
break  through  it  to  escape  from  so  horrible  a  vision,  he  repeated, 
in  a  hollow  and  convulsive  tone,  "Oh,  the  sergeant!  the  ser- 
geant !  the  sergeant !  " 


'CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   DEPARTURE. 

THANKS  to  the  care  of  Murphy  and  Rodolph,  who  with  diffi- 
culty calmed  his  agitation,  the  Chourineur  \vas  completely  re- 
stored to  himself,  and  was  alone  with  the  prince  in  one  of  the 
rooms  on  the  first  floor  in  the  house. 

"  My  lord,"  said  he,  despondingly,  "  you  have  been  very  kind, 
indeed,  to  me ;  but,  hear  me :  I  would  rather  be  a  thousand 
times  more  wretched  than  I  have  yet  been  than  become  a 
butcher." 

"Yet  reflect  a  little." 

"Why,  my  lord,  when  I  heard  the  cry  of  the  poor  animal 
which  could  not  make  the  slightest  resistance;  when  I  felt  its 
blood  spring  into  my  face — hot  blood,  which  seemed  as  coming 
from  a  living  thing;  you  cannot  imagine  what  I  felt:  then  I 
had  my  dream  all  over  again — the  sergeant  and  those  poor 
young  fellows  whom  I  cut  and  stabbed,  who  made  no  defense, 
and  died  giving  me  a  look  so  gentle,  so  gentle  that  they  seemed 
as  if  they  pitied  me !  My  lord,  it  would  drive  me  mad !  " 


152  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

And  the  poor  fellow  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  with  a  convul- 
sive start. 

"  Come,  come,  calm  yourself." 

"  Excuse  me,  my  lord ;  but  just  now  the  sight  of  the  blood — 
of  a  knife — I  could  not  bear:  at  every  instant  it  would  renew 
those  dreams  which  I  was  beginning  to  forget.  To  have  every 
day  my  hands  and  feet  in  blood,  to  cut  the  throat  of  poor  ani- 
mals who  do  not  so  much  as  make  a  struggle — oh,  no,  no !  I 
could  not  for  the  world.  I  would  rather  lose  my  eyesight  at 
once,  like  the  Schoolmaster,  than  be  compelled  to  follow  such  a 
business." 

It  is  impossible  to  depict  the  energetic  gesture,  action,  and 
countenance  of  the  Chourineur,  as  he  thus  expressed  himselt. 
Rodolph  was  deeply  affected  by  it,  and  satisfied  with  the  horrible 
effect  which  the  sight  of  the  blood  had  caused  to  his  protege. 

For  a  moment  the  savage  feeling,  the  bloodthirsty  instinct, 
had  overcome  the  human  being  in  the  Chourineur;  but  remorse 
eventually  overwhelmed  the  instinct.  That  was  as  it  should  be, 
and  it  was  a  fine  lesson. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  lord,"  said  the  Chourineur,  in  a  faltering 
voice ;  "  I  make  but  a  bad  recompense  for  all  your  kindness  to 
me,  but " 

"  Not  at  all,  my  good  fellow :  I  told  you  that  our  bargain  was 
conditional.  I  selected  for  you  the  business  of  a  butcher,  be- 
cause your  inclinations  and  taste  seemed  to  lie  in  that  direc- 
tion  " 

"  Alas !  my  lord,  that's  true ;  and,  had  it  not  been  for  what 
you  know  of,  that  would  have  been  the  trade  of  all  others  I 
should  have  chosen.  I  was  only  saying  so  to  M.  Murphy  a  little 
while  since." 

"  As  it  was  just  possible  that  your  taste  did  not  lie  that  way, 
I  have  thought  of  another  arrangement  for  you.  A  person  who 
has  a  large  tract  of  property  at  Algiers  will  give  me  up,  for  you, 
one  of  the  extensive  farms  he  holds  in  that  country.  The  lands 
belonging  to  it  are  very  fertile,  and  in  full  bearing;  but  I  will 
not  conceal  from  you,  this  estate  is  situated  on  the  boundaries  of 
the  Atlas  mountains — that  is  near  the  outposts,  and  exposed  to 
the  frequent  attacks,  of  the  Arabs,  and  one  must  be  as  much  of 
a  soldier  as  a  husbandman :  it  is,  at  the  same  time,  a  redoubt  and 
a  farm.  The  man  who  occupies  this  dwelling  in  the  absence 
of  the  proprietor  will  explain  everything  to  you :  they  say  he  is 
honest  and  faithful,  and  you  may  retain  him  there  as  long  as  you 
like.  Once  established  there,  you  will  not  only  increase  your 
means  by  your  labor  and  ability,  but  render  a  real  service  to  your 


THE  DEPARTURE.  153 

country  by  your  courage.  The  colonists  have  formed  a  militia, 
and  the  extent  of  your  property,  the  number  of  your  tenants  who 
will  depend  on  you,  will  make  you  the  chief  of  a  very  considerable 
troop.  Headed  by  your  courage,  this  band  may  be  extremely 
useful  in  protecting  the  properties  which  are  throughout  the 
plain.  I  repeat  to  you,  that  this  prospect  for  you  would  please 
me  very  much,  in  spite  of,  or,  rather,  in  consequence  of  the 
danger ;  because  you  could  at  the  same  time  display  your  natural 
intrepidity;  and  because,  having  thus  expiated,  and,  as  I  may 
say,  ransomed  yourself  from  a  great  crime,  your  restitution  to 
society  would  be  more  noble,  more  complete,  more  heroic,  if  it 
were  worked  out,  in  the  midst  of  perils  in  an  unconquered  clime, 
than  in  the  midst  of  the  quiet  inhabitants  of  a  little  town.  If 
I  did  not  first  offer  you  this,  it  was  because  it  was  probable  that 
the  other  would  suit  you,  and  the  latter  is  so  hazardous  that  I 
would  not  expose  you  to  it  without  giving  you  the  choice.  There 
is  still  time,  and,  if  this  proposition  for  Algiers  does  not  suit 
you,  tell  me  so  frankly,  and  we  will  look  out  for  something  else; 
if  not,  to-morrow  everything  shall  be  signed,  and  you  will  start 
for  Algiers  with  a  person  commissioned  by  the  former  proprietor 
of  the  farm  to  put  you  in  full  possession.  Two  years'  rent  will 
be  due,  and  paid  to  you  on  your  arrival.  The  land  yields  three 
thousand  francs  a  year:  work,  improve  it,  be  active,  vigilant, 
and  you  will  soon  increase  your  comfort  and  the  security  of 
the  colonists,  whom  you  will  aid  and  assist  I  am  sure,  for  you 
will  always  be  charitable  and  generous;  and  remember,  too,  to  be 
rich  implies  that  we  should  give  much  away.  Although  sepa- 
rated from  you,  I  shall  not  lose  sight  of  you,  and  never  forget 
that  I  and  my  best  friend  owe  our  lives  to  you.  The  only  proof 
of  attachment  and  gratitude  I  ask  is  to  learn  to  write  and  read 
as  quickly  as  you  can,  that  you  may  inform  me  regularly,  once 
a  week,  what  you  do,  and  to  address  yourself  to  me  direct  if  you 
need  any  advice  or  assistance." 


It  is  useless  to  describe  the  extreme  delight  of  the  Chourineur. 
His  disposition,  his  instincts,  are  already  sufficiently  known  to 
the  reader,  so  that  he  may  understand  that  no  proposal  could 
have  been  made  more  acceptable  to  him. 


Next  day  all  was  arranged,  and  the  Chourineur  set  out  for 
Algiers. 


154:  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

RESEARCHES. 

THE  house  which  Rodolph  had  in  the  Alice  des  Veuves  was 
not  his  usual  place  of  residence;  he  lived  in  one  of  the  largest 
mansions  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  situated  at  the  end  of 
the  Eue  Plumet  and  the  Boulevard  des  Invalides. 

To  avoid  the  honors  due  to  his  sovereign  rank,  the  prince  had 
preserved  his  incognito  since  his  arrival  in  Paris,  his  charge 
d'affaires  at  the  court  of  France  having  announced  that  his  mas- 
ter would  pay  his  official  and  indispensable  visits  under  the  name 
and  title  of  the  Count  de  Duren.  Thanks  to  this  usage  (a  very 
common  one  in  the  northern  courts),  a  prince  may  travel  with 
as  much  liberty  as  pleasure,  and  escape  all  the  bore  of  cere- 
monious introductions.  In  spite  of  his  slight  incognito,  Rodolph 
kept  up  in  his  mansion  full  state  and  etiquette.  We  will  intro- 
duce the  reader  into  the  hotel  of  the  Rue  Plumet,  the  day  after 
the  Chourineur  had  started  for  Algiers. 

The  clock  had  just  struck  ten,  A.  M.  In  the  middle  of  a  large 
salon  on  the  ground-floor,  and  which  formed  the  antechamber 
to  Rodolph's  business-chamber,  Murphy  was  seated  before  a 
bureau,  and  sealing  several  despatches.  A  groom  of  the  cham- 
bers, dressed  in  black  and  wearing  a  silver  chain  round  his  neck, 
opened  the  folding-doors  and  announced — 

"  His  Excellency  M.  le  Baron  de  Graiin." 

Murphy,  without  ceasing  from  his  employment,  received  the 
baron  with  a  nod  at  once  cordial  and  familiar. 

"  Monsieur  le  Charge  d'Affaires,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  will  you 
warm  yourself  at  the  fire?  I  will  be  at  your  service  in  one 
moment." 

"  Monsieur  the  Private  Secretary,  I  await  your  leisure,"  re- 
plied M.  de  Graiin,  gaily,  and  making,  with  mock  respect,  a  low 
and  respectful  bow  to  the  worthy  squire. 

The  baron  was  about  fifty  years  of  age,  with  hair  gray,  thin, 
and  lightly  curled  and  powdered.  His  chin,  rather  projecting, 
was  partly  concealed  in  a  high  cravat  of  white  muslin,  starched 
very  stiffly,  and  of  unimpeachable  whiteness.  His  countenance 
was  expressive  of  great  intelligence,  and  his  carriage  was  dis- 
tingue; whilst  beneath  his  gold  spectacles  there  beamed  an  eye 
as  shrewd  as  it  was  penetrating.  Although  it  was  only  ten 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  M.  de  Graiin  wore  a  black  coat — that 


RESEARCHES.  155 

was  etiquette;  and  a  ribbon,  shot  with  several  bright  colors,  was 
suspended  from  his  button-hole.  He  placed  his  hat  on  a  chair 
and  took  his  station  near  the  fireplace,  whilst  Murphy  continued 
his  work. 

"  His  royal  highness,  no  doubt,  was  up  the  best  part  of  the 
night,  my  dear  Murphy,  for  your  correspondence  appears  con- 
siderable?" 

"  Monseigneur  went  to  bed  at  six  o'clock  this  morning.  He 
wrote,  amongst  other  letters,  one  of  eight  pages  to  the  Grand 
Marshal,  and  dictated  to  me  one  equally  long  to  the  Chief  of 
the  Upper  Council,  the  Prince  d'Herkaiisen-Oldenzaal,  his  royal 
highness's  cousin." 

"  You  know  that  his  son,  Prince  Henry,  has  entered  as  lieuten- 
ant in  the  guards  in  the  service  of  his  Majesty  the  Emperor  of 
Austria?" 

"  Yes :  Monseigneur  recommended  him  most  warmly  as  his 
relation ;  and  he  really  is  a  fine,  excellent  young  man,  handsome 
as  an  angel,  and  as  good  as  gold." 

"  The  fact  is,  my  dear  Murphy,  that  if  the  young  Prince  Henry 
had  had  his  entree  to  the  grand  ducal  abbey  of  Ste.  Hermene- 
gilde,  of  which  his  aunt  is  the  superior,  the  poor  nuns " 

"  Baron  !  baron !  why " 

"  My  dear  sir,  the  air  of  Paris But  let  us  talk  seriously. 

Shall  I  await  the  rising  of  his  royal  highness  to  communicate 
all  the  particulars  which  I  have  procured  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  baron.  Monseigneur  has  desired  that  he  should 
not  be  called  before  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon:  he 
desires,  also,  that  you  send  off  this  morning  these  despatches  by 
a  special  courier,  instead  of  waiting  till  Monday.  You  will  en- 
trust me  with  all  the  particulars  you  have  acquired,  and  I  will 
communicate  them  to  Monseigneur  when  he  wakes.  These  are 
his  orders." 

"  Nothing  can  be  better,  and  I  think  his  royal  highness  will 
be  satisfied  with  what  I  have  collected.  But,  my  dear  Murphy, 
I  hope  the  despatch  of  the  special  courier  is  not  a  bad  sign : 
the  last  despatches  which  I  had  the  honor  of  sending  to  his  royal 
highness " 

"  Announced  that  all  was  going  on  well  at  home ;  and  it  is 
precisely  because  my  lord  is  desirous  of  expressing  as  early  as 
possible  his  entire  satisfaction,  that  he  wishes  a  courier  to  be 
despatched  this  very  day  to  Prince  Herkhaiisen-Oldenzaal,  chief 
of  the  Supreme  Council." 

"  That  is  so  like  his  royal  highness :  were  it  to  blame  instead 
of  commend,  he  would  observe  less  haste." 


156  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Nothing  new  has  transpired  with  us,  my  dear  baron — noth- 
ing at  all.  Our  mysterious  adventures " 

"  Are  wholly  unknown.  You  know  that,  since  the  arrival  of 
his  royal  highness  in  Paris,  his  friends  have  become  used  to  see 
him  but  little  in  public:  it  is  understood  that  he  prefers  se- 
clusion, and  is  in  the  habit  of  making  frequent  excursions  to 
the  environs  of  Paris,  and,  with  the  exception  of  the  Countess 
Sarah  Macgregor  and  her  brother,  no  person  is  aware  of  the 
disguises  assumed  by  his  royal  highness;  and  neither  of  the 
personages  I  have  mentioned  have  the  smallest  interest  in  be- 
traying the  secret." 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  baron,"  exclaimed  Murphy,  heaving  a  deep  sigh. 
"what  an  unfortunate  thing  it  is  that  this  accursed  countess 
should  be  left  a  widow  at  this  very  important  moment !  " 

"  She  was  married,  I  think,  in  1827  or  1828  ?  " 

"In  1827,  shortly  after  the  death  of  the  unfortunate  child, 
who  would  now  be  in  her  sixteenth  or  seventeenth  year,  and  whose 
loss  his  royal  highness  seems  daily  more  to  deplore." 

"  Far  more  so,  indeed,  than  he  appears  to  feel  for  the  loss 
of  his  legitimate  offspring." 

"  And  thus,  my  dear  baron,  we  may  account  for  the  deep 
interest  his  royal  highness  takes  in  the  poor  Goualeuse,  arising 
as  it  does  from  the  fact  that  the  daughter  so  deeply  deplored 
would,  had  she  lived,  have  been  precisely  the  same  age  as  this 
unfortunate  young  creature." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  an  unfortunate  affair  that  the  Countess  Sarah, 
from  whom  we  fancied  we  were  forever  freed,  should  have 
become  a  widow  exactly  eighteen  months  after  his  royal  high- 
ness had  been  deprived  by  death  of  the  wife  with  whom  he  had 
passed  years  of  wedded  happiness.  The  countess,  I  am  per- 
suaded, looks  upon  this  double  freedom  from  all  marriage- 
vows  as  a  signal  intervention  of  Providence  to  further  her 
views." 

"And  her  impetuous  passion  has  become  more  ardent  than 
ever,  though  she  is  well  aware  that  my  lord  feels  for  her  the 
deepest  aversion  and  well-merited  contempt.  Was  not  her 
culpable  indifference  the  cause  of  her  child's  death  ?  Did  she  not 

cause Ah!  baron,"  said  Murphy,  leaving  the  sentence 

unfinished,  "  this  woman  is  our  evil  genius.  God  grant  she  may 
not  reappear  amongst  us  laden  with  fresh  misfortunes ! " 

"  But  still,  under  present  circumstances,  any  views  Countess 
Sarah  may  entertain  must  be  absurd  in  the  greatest  degree:  the 
death  of  the  unfortunate  child  you  just  now  alluded  to  has 
broken  the  last  tie  which  might  have  attached  my  lord  to  this 


RESEARCHES.  157 

dangerous  woman.  She  must  be  mad,  as  well  as  foolish,  to 
persist  in  so  hopeless  a  pursuit." 

"  If  she  be  mad,  there  is  a  dangerous  '  method  in  her  mad- 
ness ' :  her  brother,  you  are  aware,  partakes  of  her  ambitious 
schemes  and  obstinate  opinions  of  ultimate  success.  Although 
this  worthy  pair  have  as  much  reason  for  utter  despair  as  they 
had  eighteen  years  since  of  entire  success " 

"  Eighteen  years !  What  an  accumulation  of  evil  has  been 
wrought  during  that  period  by  the  criminal  compliance  of  that 
rascally  Polidori ! " 

"  By  the  way,  talking  of  that  miserable  wretch,  I  have  traced 
that  he  was  here  about  a  year  or  two  ago,  suffering,  no  doubt, 
from  the  most  perfect  destitution,  or  else  subsisting  by  disgrace- 
ful and  dishonorable  practices." 

"  What  a  pity  that  a  man  so  largely  endowed  with  penetration, 
talent,  deep  learning,  and  natural  intelligence,  should  sink  so 
low ! " 

"  The  innate  perversity  of  his  character  marred  all  these  high 
qualities.  It  is  to  be  hoped  he  and  the  countess  will  not  meet: 
the  junction  of  two  such  evil  spirits  is  indeed  to  be  feared,  for 
what  frightful  consequences  might  there  not  result  from  it ! 
Now,  touching  the  facts  you  have  been  collecting,  have  you  them 
about  you  ?  " 

"  Here,"  said  the  baron,  drawing  a  paper  from  his  pocket, 
"  are  the  various  particulars  I  have  been  enabled  to  collect  touch- 
ing the  birth  of  a  young  girl  known  as  La  Goualeuse,  and  also  of 
the  now  residence  of  an  individual  called  Frangois  Germain,  son 
of  the  Schoolmaster." 

"Be  kind  enough  to  read  me  the  result  of  your  inquiries, 
my  dear  De  Graiin.  I  am  well  aware  what  are  his  royal  high- 
ness's  intentions  in  the  matter;  I  shall  be  able  to  judge  then 
whether  the  information  you  possess  will  be  sufficient  to  enable 
him  to  carry  them  into  effect.  You  have  every  reason  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  agent  you  employ,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  is  a  rare  fellow !  so  precise,  methodical,  zealous, 
and  intelligent !  I  am,  indeed,  sometimes  obliged  to  moderate 
his  energy;  for  I  am  well  aware  there  are  certain  points,  the 
clearing  up  of  which  his  highness  reserves  for  himself." 

"  And,  of  course,  your  agent  is  far  from  suspecting  the  deep 
interest  his  royal  highness  has  in  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Entirely  so.  My  diplomatic  position  affords  an  excellent 
pretext  for  the  inquiries  I  have  undertaken.  M.  Badinot  (for 
such  is  the  name  of  the  person  I  am  speaking  of)  is  a  sharp, 
shrewd  individual,  having  connections,  either  recognized  or  co*- 


158  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

cealed,  in  every  grade  of  society.  He  was  formerly  a  lawyer,  but 
compelled  to  quit  his  profession  from  some  very  serious  breach  of 
trust ;  he  has,  however,  retained  very  accurate  recollections  touch- 
ing the  fortunes  and  situations  of  his  old  clients ;  he  knows  many 
a  secret,  which  he  boasts,  with  considerable  effrontery,  of  having 
turned  to  a  good  account.  By  turns,  rich  and  poor — now  suc- 
cessful, and  then  a  ruined  man — he  only  ceased  his  speculations 
when  none  could  be  found  to  take  part  in  them  with  him ;  reduced 
to  live  from  day  to  day  by  expedients  more  or  less  illegal,  he 
became  a  curious  specimen  of  the  Figaro  school — so  long  as  his 
interest  was  concerned  he  would  devote  himself,  soul  and  body, 
to  his  employer ;  and  we  are  sure  of  his  fidelity,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  he  has  nothing  to  gain,  though  a  great  deal  to  lose, 
by  deceiving  us;  and,  besides,  I  make  him  careful  of  our 
interests,  even  unknown  to  himself." 

"  The  particulars  he  has  hitherto  furnished  us  with  have  been 
very  correct  and  satisfactory." 

"  Oh,  he  has  a  very  straightforward  manner  of  going  to  work ! 
And  I  assure  you,  my  dear  Murphy,  that  M.  Badinot  is  the  very 
original  type  of  one  of  those  mysterious  existences  which  are  to 
be  met  with,  and  only  possible,  in  Paris.  He  would  greatly 
amuse  his  royal  highness,  if  it  were  not  necessary  to  avoid  their 
being  known  to  each  other  in  this  business." 

"You  can  augment  the  pay  of  M.  Badinot  if  you  deem  it 
necessary." 

"  Why,  really,  five  hundred  francs  a  month,  and  his  expenses, 
amounting  to  nearly  the  same  sum,  appear  to  me  quite  sufficient : 
we  shall  see  by  and  by." 

"  And  does  he  not  seem  ashamed  of  the  part  he  plays  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary — he  is  not  a  little  vain  of  his  employment, 
and  when  he  brings  me  any  particulars  assumes  a  certain  air  of 
importance  he  would  fain  pass  off  as  due  to  his  diplomatic  func- 
tions; for  the  fellow  either  thinks,  or  feigns  to  do  so,  that  he  is 
deeply  engaged  in  state  affairs,  and  ventures  to  observe  at  times, 
in  a  sort  of  under-tone,  how  very  marvelous  it  is  that  such  close 
and  intimate  relationship  should  be  found  to  exist  between  every- 
day events  and  the  destinies  of  kingdoms !  Yes,  really,  he  had 
the  impudence  to  remark  to  me  the  other  day,  '  What  compli- 
cated machinery  is  contained  in  the  grand  machine  of  state 
affairs !  Who  would  think  now,  M.  le  Baron,  those  little  humble 
notes  collected  by  me  will  have  their  part  to  play  in  directing 
and  regulating  the  affairs  of  Europe ! ' >: 

"Yes,  yes,  rascals  generally  seek  to  veil  their  mean  and  base 
practices  beneath  some  high-sounding  pretext.  But  the  notes 


RESEARCHES.  159 

you  are  to  give  me,  my  dear  baron,  have  you  them  with 
you?" 

"  Here  they  are,  drawn  up  precisely  from  the  accounts  fur- 
nished by  M.  Badinot." 

"  Pray  let  me  hear  them :  I  am  all  attention." 

M.  de  Graiin  then  read  as  follows: — 

"Note  relative  to  Fleur-de-Marie. — About  the  beginning  of 
the  year  1827,  a  man  named  Pierre  Tournemine,  then  under 
sentence  in  the  galleys  at  Rochefort  for  forgery,  proposed  to  a 
woman  named  Gervais,  but  also  known  as  La  Chouette,  to  take 
perpetual  charge  of  a  little  girl,  then  between  five  and  six  years 
of  age,  for  a  sum  of  one  thousand  francs  paid  down. 

"  The  bargain  being  concluded,  the  child  was  delivered  over 
to  the  woman,  with  whom  she  remained  two  years,  when,  unable 
longer  to  endure  the  cruelty  shown  her,  the  little  girl  disap- 
peared; nor  did  the  Chouette  hear  anything  of  her  for  several 
years,  when  she  unexpectedly  met  with  her  at  a  small  public- 
house  in  the  Cite,  nearly  seven  weeks  ago.  The  infant,  now 
grown  into  a  young  woman,  then  bore  the  appellation  of  La 
Goualeuse. 

"  A  few  days  previously  to  this  meeting,  the  above-mentioned 
Tournemine,  who  had  become  acquainted  with  the  Schoolmaster 
at  the  galleys  of  Rochefort,  had  sent  to  Bras  Rouge  (the  regular, 
though  concealed  correspondent,  of  every  rogue  and  felon  either 
in  prison  or  out  of  it)  a  lengthened  detail  of  every  particular 
relative  to  the  child  formerly  confided  to  the  woman  Gervais, 
otherwise  the  Chouette. 

"  From  this  account,  and  the  declarations  of  the  Chouette,  it 
appeared  that  one  Madame  Seraphin,  housekeeper  to  a  notary 
named  Jacques  Ferrand,  had  in  1827  instructed  Tournemine  to 
find  a  person  who,  for  the  sum  of  one  thousand  francs,  would  be 
willing  to  take  the  entire  charge  of  a  child  of  from  five  to  six 
years  of  age  whom  it  was  desired  to  get  rid  of,  as  has  before  been 
mentioned. 

"  That  the  Chouette  accepted  the  proposition,  and  received 
both  the  child  and  the  stipulated  sum  of  money. 

"  The  aim  of  Tournemine,  in  addressing  these  particulars  to 
Bras  Rouge,  was  to  enable  the  latter  to  extort  money  from 
Madame  Seraphin,  who  Tournemine  considered  but  as  the  agent 
of  a  third  party,  under  a  threat  of  revealing  the  whole  affair  un- 
less well  paid  for  silence. 

"Bras  Rouge  entrusted  the  Chouette,  long  the  established 
partner  in  all  the  Schoolmaster's  schemes  of  villainy;  and  this 
explains  how  so  important  a  document  found  its  way  to  that 


160  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

monster's  possession,  and  also  accounts  for  the  expression  used  by 
the  Chouette  at  her  rencounter  with  the  Goualeuse  in  the  cabaret 
of  the  White  Babbit,  when,  by  way  of  tormenting  her  victim,  she 
said,  '  We  have  found  out  all  about  your  parents,  but  you  shall 
never  know  who  or  what  they  are.' 

"  The  point  to  be  decided  was  as  to  the  veracity  of  the  cir- 
cumstances detailed  by  Tournemine  in  his  letter  to  the  Chouette. 

"  It  has  been  ascertained  that  Madame  Seraphin  and  the 
notary,  Jacques  Ferrand,  are  both  living:  the  address  of  the 
latter  is  Rue  du  Sentier,  No.  41,  where  he  passes  for  a  person 
of  pious  and  austere  life;  at  least,  he  is  constant  in  his  attend- 
ance at  church — his  attention  to  his  professional  duties,  close 
and  severe,  though  some  accuse  him  of  following  up  the  severity 
of  the  law  with  unnecessary  rigor.  In  his  mode  of  living  he 
observes  a  parsimony  bordering  on  avarice.  Madame  Seraphin 
still  resides  with  him,  as  manager  of  his  household;  and  M. 
Jacques  Ferrand,  spite  of  his  original  poverty,  has  invested 
thirty-five  thousand  francs  in  the  funds:  the  greatest  part  of 
this  sum  having  been  supplied  to  him  through  a  M.  Charles 
Eobert,  a  superior  officer  of  the  National  Guard — a  young  and 
handsome  man,  in  high  repute  with  a  certain  class  of  society. 
'Tis  true  that  some  ill-natured  persons  are  found  to  assert  that, 
owing  either  to  fortunate  speculations  or  lucky  hits  upon  the 
Stock  Exchange,  undertaken  in  partnership  with  the  above-men- 
tioned Charles  Eobert,  the  worthy  notary  could  now  well  afford 
to  pay  back  the  original  loan  with  high  interest ;  but  the  rigidly 
austere  and  self-denying  life  of  this  worthy  man  gives  a  flat 
denial  to  all  such  gossiping  reports,  and,  spite  of  the  incredulity 
with  which  he  is  occasionally  listened  to,  he  persists  in  styling 
himself  a  man  struggling  for  a  maintenance.  There  can  be  no 
manner  of  doubt  but  that  Madame  Seraphin,  this  worthy  gentle- 
man's housekeeper,  could,  if  she  pleased,  throw  an  entire  light 
upon  every  circumstance  connected  with  La  Goualeuse." 

"  Bravo !  my  dear  baron,"  exclaimed  Murphy :  "  nothing  can 
be  better.  These  declarations  of  Tournemine  carry  with  them 
an  appearance  of  truth,  and  it  seems  more  than  probable  that 
we  may,  through  Jacques  Ferrand,  obtain  the  right  clue  to  dis- 
covering the  parents  of  this  unfortunate  girl.  Now  tell  me, 
have  you  been  equally  successful  in  the  information  collected 
touching  the  son  of  the  Schoolmaster?" 

"  Perhaps,  as  regards  him,  I  am  not  furnished  with  such  mi- 
nute particulars ;  but,  upon  the  whole,  I  think  the  result  of  our 
inquiries  very  satisfactory." 

"  Upon  my  word,  your  M.  Badinot,  is  a  downright  treasure ! " 


RESEARCHES.  161 

"  You  see,  Bras  Kouge  is  the  hinge  upon  which  everything 
turns.  M.  Badinot,  who  has  several  acquaintances  in  the  police, 
pointed  him  out  to  us  as  the  go-between  of  several  notorious 
felons,  and  knew  the  man  directly  he  was  set  to  discover  what 
had  become  of  the  ill-fated  son  of  Madame  Georges  Duresnel, 
the  unfortunate  wife  of  this  atrocious  Schoolmaster." 

"  And  it  was  in  going  to  search  for  Bras  Eouge,  in  his  den 
in  the  Cite"  (Rue  aux  Feves,  No.  13'),  that  my  lord  fell  in  with 
the  Chourineur  and  La  Goualeuse.  His  royal  highness  hoped, 
too,  that  the  opportunity  now  before  him,  of  visiting  these  abodes 
of  vice  and  wretchedness,  might  afford  him  the  means  of  res- 
cuing some  unfortunate  being  from  the  depths  of  guilt  and 
misery.  His  benevolent  anticipations  were  gratified,  but  at  what 
risk  it  is  painful  even  to  remember/' 

"  Whatever  damages  attended  the  scheme,  you,  at  least,  my 
dear  Murphy,  bravely  bore  your  share  in  them." 

"  Was  not  I,  for  that  very  purpose,  appointed  charcoal-man  in 
waiting  upon  his  royal  highness?"  replied  the  squire,  smilingly. 

"  Say,  rather,  his  intrepid  body-guard,  my  worthy  friend.  But 
to  touch  upon  your  courage  and  devotion  is  only  to  repeat  what 
everyone  knows.  I  will,  therefore,  spare  your  modesty,  and 
continue  my  relation.  Here  are  the  various  particulars  we  have 
been  able  to  glean  concerning  Frangois  Germain,  son  of  Madame 
Georges  and  the  Schoolmaster,  properly  called  Duresnel: — 

"  About  eighteen  months  since  a  young  man,  named  Frangois 
Germain,  arrived  in  Paris  from  Nantes,  where  he  had  been  em- 
ployed in  the  banking-house  of  Noel  and  Co. 

"  It  seems,  both  from  the  confession  of  the  Schoolmaster  as 
well  as  from  several  letters  found  upon  him,  that  the  scoundrel 
to  whom  he  had  entrusted  his  unfortunate  offspring,  for  the 
purpose  of  perverting  his  young  mind,  and  rendering  him  one 
day  a  worthy  assistant  to  his  unprincipled  father  in  his  nefar- 
ious schemes,  proposed  to  the  young  man  to  join  in  a  plot  for 
robbing  his  employers,  as  well  as  to  forge  upon  the  firm  to  a 
considerable  amount.  This  proposition  was  received  by  the 
youth  with  well-merited  indignation,  but,  unwilling  to  denounce 
the  man  by  whom  he  had  been  brought  up,  he  first  communi- 
cated anonymously  to  his  master  the  designs  projected  against 
the  bank,  and  then  privately  quitted  Nantes,  that  he  might  avoid 
the  rage  and  fury  of  those  whose  sinful  practices  his  soul  sick- 
ened and  shuddered  to  think  of,  far  less  to  bear  the  idea  of  par- 
ticipating in. 

"These  wretches,  aware  that  they  had  betrayed  themselves 
to  the  young  man,  and  dreading  the  use  he  might  make  of  his 


162  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

information,  immediately  upon  finding  he  had  quitted  Nantes 
followed  him  to  Paris,  with  the  most  sinister  intentions  of  silenc- 
ing him  forever.  After  long  and  persevering  inquiries  they 
succeeded  in  discovering  his  address,  but,  happily  for  the  per- 
secuted object  of  their  search,  he  had  a  few  days  previously  en- 
countered the  villain  who  had  first  sought  to  corrupt  his  prin- 
ciples, and,  well  divining  the  motive  which  had  brought  him  to 
Paris,  lost  no  time  in  changing  his  abode ;  and  so,  for  this  time, 
the  Schoolmaster's  hapless  son  escaped  his  pursuers.  Still,  how- 
ever, following  up  the  scent,  they  succeeded  in  tracing  the  youth 
to  his  fresh  abode,  17  Eue  du  Temple.  One  evening,  however, 
he  narrowly  escaped  falling  into  an  ambush  laid  for  him — (the 
Schoolmaster  concealed  this  circumstance  from  my  lord) — but 
again  Providence  befriended  him,  and  he  escaped,  though  too 
much  alarmed  to  remain  in  his  lodgings :  he  once  more  changed 
his  abode,  since  which  time  all  traces  of  him  have  been  lost. 
And  matters  had  reached  thus  far  when  the  Schoolmaster  re- 
ceived the  just  punishment  of  his  crimes;  since  which  period, 
by  order  of  my  lord,  fresh  inquiries  have  been  instituted,  of 
which  the  following  is  the  result. 

"  Frangois  Germain  lived  for  about  three  months  at  No.  17 
Eue  du  Temple,  a  house  rendered  worthy  of  observation  by  the 
habits  and  ingenious  practices  of  its  inhabitants.  Germain  was 
a  great  favorite  among  them,  by  reason  of  his  kind  and  amiable 
disposition,  as  well  as  for  the  frank  gaiety  of  his  temper.  Al- 
though his  means  of  livelihood  appeared  very  slender,  yet  he  had 
rendered  the  most  generous  assistance  to  an  indigent  family 
occupying  the  garrets  of  the  house.  In  vain  has  been  every  in- 
quiry made  in  the  Rue  du  Temple  touching  the  present  residence 
of  Frangois  Germain,  or  the  profession  he  was  supposed  to  fol- 
low :  everyone  in  the  house  believed  him  to  be  employed  in  some 
counting-house,  or  office,  as  he  went  out  early  in  the  morning  and 
never  returned  till  late  in  the  evening.  The  only  person  who 
really  knows  the  present  residence  of  the  young  man  is  a  female, 
lodging  in  the  house  No.  17  Rue  du  Temple — a  young  and  pretty 
grisette,  named  Rigolette,  between  whom  and  Germain  a  very 
close  acquaintance  appears  to  have  existed.  She  occupies  the 
adjoining  room  to  that  which  Germain  tenanted,  and  which 
chamber,  by  the  by,  is  still  vacant ;  and  it  was  under  pretext  of 
inquiring  about  it  that  these  particulars  were  obtained." 

"  Rigolette !  "  exclaimed  Murphy,  after  having  been  for  several 
minutes  apparently  in  deep  thought.  "  Yes,  I  am  sure  I  know 
her." 

"  You!  Sir  Walter  Murphy,"  replied  the  baron,  much  amused. 


RESEARCHES.  163 

"You!  most  worthy  and  respectable  father  of  a  family!  you 
know  anything  of  pretty  grisettes !  And  so  the  name  of  Made- 
moiselle Rigolette  is  familiar  to  you,  is  it  ?  Fie !  fie !  Oh,  pos- 
itively I  am  ashamed  of  you ! " 

"  Ton  my  soul,  my  lord  compelled  me  to  have  so  many  strange 
acquaintances,  that  such  a  mere  trifle  as  this  should  pass  for 
nothing.  But  wait  a  bit.  Yes,  now  I  recollect  perfectly,  that 
when  my  lord  was  relating  the  history  of  La  Goualeuse,  I  could 
not  help  laughing  at  the  very  odd  name  of  Rigolette,  which,  as 
far  as  I  can  call  to  mind,  was  the  name  of  a  prison  acquaintance 
of  that  poor  Fleur-de-Marie." 

"Well,  then,  just  at  this  particular  juncture  Mademoiselle 
Rigolette  may  be  of  the  utmost  service  to  us.  Let  me  conclude 
my  report : — 

"  There  might  possibly  be  an  advantage  in  engaging  the  vacant 
chamber  recently  belonging  to  Germain,  in  the  Rue  du  Temple. 
We  have  no  instructions  to  proceed  further  in  our  investigations, 
but,  from  some  words  which  escaped  the  porteress,  there  is  every 
reason  to  believe  that  not  only  would  it  be  possible  to  find  in 
this  house  certain  indications  of  where  the  Schoolmaster's  son 
may  be  heard  of,  through  the  means  of  Mademoiselle  Rigolette, 
but  the  house  itself  would  afford  my  lord  an  opportunity  of 
studying  human  nature  amid  wants,  difficulties,  and  misery,  the 
very  existence  of  which  he  is  far  from  suspecting/' 

"  This  you  see,  my  dear  Murphy,"  said  M.  de  Graiin,  finishing 
his  report  and  presenting  it  to  his  companion — "you  see  evi- 
dently that  it  is  from  the  notary,  Jacques  Ferrand,  we  must  hope 
to  obtain  information  respecting  the  parentage  of  La  Goualeuse, 
and  that  we  must  go  to  Mademoiselle  Rigolette  to  trace  the 
dwelling  of  Frangois  Germain.  It  seems  to  me  a  great  point  to 
have  ascertained  the  direction  in  which  to  search." 

"  Undoubtedly,  baron ;  you  are  quite  right :  and,  besides,  I 
am  sure  my  lord  will  find  a  fine  field  for  observation  in  the 
house  of  which  you  speak.  But  I  have  not  yet  done  with  you. 
Have  you  made  any  inquiries  respecting  the  Marquis  d'Har- 
ville?" 

"I  have;  and,  so  far  as  concerns  money  matters,  his  royal 
highness's  fears  are  wholly  unfounded.  M.  Badinot  affirms  (and 
he  is  very  likely  to  be  well  informed  on  the  subject)  that  the 
fortune  of  the  marquis  has  never  been  in  a  more  prosperous 
condition,  or  better  managed." 

"  Why,  after  having  in  vain  exhausted  every  other  conjecture 
as  to  the  secret  grief  which  is  preying  upon  M.  d'Harville,  my 
lord  imagined  that  it  wts  just  probable  the  marquis  had  some 


164  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

pecuniary  difficulties:  had  it  proved  so,  he  would  have  removed 
them  with  that  delicate  assumption  of  mystery  you  know  he  so 
frequently  employs  to  veil  his  munificence.  But,  since  even  this 
conjecture  has  failed,  he  must  abandon  all  hope  of  guessing  the 
enigma;  and  this  he  will  do  the  more  reluctantly,  as  his  great 
desire  to  discover  it  arose  out  of  his  ardent  friendship  for  M. 
d'Harville." 

"  A  friendship  which  is  founded  on  a  grateful  recollection  of 
the  important  services  rendered  by  the  marquis's  father  to  his 
own  parent.  Are  you  aware,  my  dear  Murphy,  that  at  the  re- 
modeling of  the  States  in  1815,  at  the  Germanic  confederation, 
the  father  of  his  royal  highness  had  a  chance  of  being  excluded, 
from  his  well-known  attachment  to  Napoleon?  Thanks  to  the 
friendship  with  which  the  Emperor  Alexander  honored  him,  the 
deceased  Marquis  d'Harville  was  enabled  to  render  most  effectual 
service  to  the  father  of  our  patron.  The  emperor,  whose  warm 
regard  for  the  late  marquis  had  taken  its  date  from  the  period  of 
that  nobleman's  emigration  to  Eussia,  exerted  his  powerful  in- 
fluence in  congress  so  successfully,  that  at  the  grand  meeting  to 
decide  the  destinies  of  the  princes  of  Germany,  the  father  of 
our  noble  employer  was  reinstated  in  all  his  pristine  rights.  As 
for  the  friendship  now  subsisting  between  the  present  marquis 
and  his  royal  highness,  I  believe  it  commenced  when,  as  mere 
boys,  they  met  together  on  a  visit  paid  by  the  then  reigning 
Grand  Duke  to  the  late  Marquis  d'Harville." 

"  So  I  have  heard ;  and  they  appear  to  have  retained  a  most 
lively  recollection  of  this  happy  period  of  their  youth.  Nor  is 
this  all  I  have  to  say  on  the  subject  of  the  interest  our  noble 
master  takes  in  every  matter  concerning  the  house  of  D'Harville. 
So  profound  is  his  gratitude  for  the  services  rendered  to  his 
father,  that  all  bearing  the  honored  name  of  D'Harville,  or  be- 
longing to  the  family,  possess  a  powerful  claim  on  the  kindness 
of  the  prince.  Thus,  not  alone  to  her  virtues  or  her  misfortunes, 
does  poor  Madame  Georges  owe  the  increasing  and  unwearied 
goodness  of  my  lord." 

"  Madame  Georges !  "  exclaimed  the  astounded  baron.  "  What, 
the  wife  of  Duresnel,  the  felon  known  as  the  Schoolmaster?  " 

"  And  the  mother  of  Frangois  Germain,  the  youth  we  are  seek- 
ing for,  and  whom,  I  trust,  we  shall  find." 

"  Is  the  relation  of  M.  d'Harville?  " 

'  "  She  was  his  mother's  cousin,  and  her  most  intimate  friend : 
the  old  marquis  entertained  the  most  perfect  friendship  and 
esteem  for  Madame  Georges." 

"  But  how,  for  Heaven's  sake,  my  dear  Murphy,  did  it  ever 


RESEARCHES.  165 

come  about  that  the  D'Harville  family  ever  permitted  a  descend- 
ant of  theirs  to  marry  such  a  monster  as  this  Duresnel  ?  " 

"  Why,  thus  it  was.  The  father  of  this  unfortunate  woman 
was  a  M.  de  Lagny,  who,  previous  to  the  Revolution,  possessed 
considerable  property  in  Languedoc,  and  who,  having  fortunately 
escaped  the  proscription  so  fatal  to  many,  availed  himself  of  the 
first  tranquillity  which  succeeded  these  days  of  discord  and 
anarchy  to  establish  his  only  daughter  in  marriage.  Among  the 
various  candidates  for  the  hand  of  the  young  heiress  was  this 
Duresnel,  the  representative  of  a  wealthy  and  respectable  family, 
possessing  powerful  parliamentary  influence,  and  concealing  the 
depravity  of  his  disposition  beneath  the  most  specious  exterior. 
To  this  man  was  Mademoiselle  de  Lagny  united,  by  desire  of  her 
father :  but  a  very  short  time  sufficed  to  strip  the  mask  from  his 
vicious  character,  and  to  display  his  natural  propensities.  A 
gambler,  spendthrift,  and  profligate,  addicted  to  the  lowest  vices 
that  can  disgrace  a  human  being,  he  quickly  dissipated,  not  only 
his  own  fortune,  but  that  of  his  wife  also.  Even  the  estate  to 
which  Madame  Georges  Duresnel  had  retired  was  involved  in  the 
general  ruin  occasioned  by  her  worthless  husband's  passion  for 
play,  and  his  dissolute  mode  of  life ;  and  the  unfortunate  woman 
would  have  been  left  without  a  shelter  for  herself  or  infant  son 
but  for  the  kind  affection  of  her  relation,  the  Marquise  d'Har- 
ville,  whom  she  loved  with  the  tenderness  of  a  sister.  With  this 
valued  friend  Madame  Duresnel  found  a  welcome  home,  while 
her  wretched  husband,  finding  himself  utterly  ruined,  plunged 
into  the  blackest  crimes,  and  stopped  at  no  means,  however 
guilty  and  desperate,  to  supply  his  pleasures.  He  became  the 
associate  of  thieves,  murderers,  pickpockets,  and  forgers,  and  ere 
long,  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  law,  was  sentenced  to  the 
galleys  for  the  term  of  his  natural  life.  Yet,  while  suffering  the 
just  punishment  of  his  crimes,  his  base  mind  devised  the  double 
atrocity  of  tearing  the  child  from  its  miserable  mother,  for  the 
sake  of  breaking  down  every  good  principle  it  might  have  im- 
bibed, and  of  training  it  up  in  vicious  readiness  to  join  his  future 
schemes  of  villainy.  You  know  the  rest.  After  the  condemnation 
of  her  husband,  Madame  Georges,  without  giving  any  reason  for 
so  doing,  quitted  the  Marquise  d'Harville,  and  went  to  hide  her 
shame  and  her  sorrows  in  Paris,  where  she  soon  fell  into  the 
utmost  distress.  It  would  occupy  too  much  time  to  tell  you  by 
what  train  of  events  my  lord  became  aware  of  the  misfortunes 
of  this  excellent  woman,  as  well  as  the  ties  which  connect  her 
with  the  D'Harville  family:  it  is  sufficient  that  he  came  most 
opportunely  and  generously  to  her  assistance,  induced  her  to 


166  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

quit  Paris  and  establish  herself  at  the  farm  at  Bouqueval,  where 
she  now  is,  with  the  Goualeuse.  In  this  peaceful  retreat  she  has 
found  tranquillity,  if  not  happiness;  and  the  overlooking  and 
management  of  the  farm  may  serve  to  recreate  her  thoughts,  and 
prevent  them  from  dwelling  too  deeply  on  her  past  sorrows.  As 
much  to  spare  the  almost  morbid  sensibility  of  Madame  Georges, 
as  because  he  dislikes  to  blazon  forth  his  good  deeds,  my  lord 
has  not  even  acquainted  M.  d'Harville  with  the  fact  of  his  having 
relieved  his  kinswoman  from  such  severe  distress." 

"  I  comprehend  now  the  twofold  interest  which  my  lord  has 
in  desiring  to  discover  the  traces  of  the  son  of  this  poor 
woman." 

"  You  may  also  judge  by  that,  my  dear  baron,  of  the  affection 
which  his  royal  highness  bears  to  the  whole  family,  and  how 
deep  is  his  vexation  at  seeing  the  young  marquis  so  sad,  with  so 
many  reasons  to  be  happy." 

"  What  can  there  be  wanting  to  M.  d'Harville  ?  He  unites 
all — birth,  fortune,  wit,  youth;  his  wife  is  charming,  and  as 
prudent  as  she  is  lovely." 

"True,  and  his  royal  highness  only  had  recourse  to  the  in- 
quiries we  have  been  talking  over  after  having  in  vain  endeavored 
to  penetrate  the  cause  of  M.  d'Harville's  deep  melancholy:  he 
showed  himself  deeply  affected  by  the  kind  attentions  of  Mon- 
seigneur,  but  still  has  been  entirely  reserved  on  the  subject  of  his 
low  spirits.  It  may  be  some  peine  de  cceur." 

"  Yet  it  is  said  that  he  is  excessively  fond  of  his  wife,  and  she 
does  not  give  him  the  least  cause  for  jealousy.  I  often  meet  her 
in  society,  and,  although  she  is  constantly  surrounded  by  ad- 
mirers (as  every  young  and  lovely  woman  is),  still  her  reputation 
is  unsullied." 

"  The  marquis  is  always  speaking  of  her  in  the  highest  terms : 
he  has  had,  however,  one  little  discussion  with  her  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  Countess  Sarah  Macgregor." 

"  Has  she,  then,  seen  her  ?  " 

"  By  a  most  unlucky  chance,  the  father  of  the  Marquis  d'Har- 
ville knew  Sarah  Seyton  of  Halsburg,  and  her  brother  Tom, 
seventeen  or  eighteen  years  ago,  during  their  residence  in  Paris, 
and  when  they  were  much  noticed  by  the  lady  of  the  English 
ambassador.  Learning  that  the  brother  and  sister  were  going 
into  Germany,  the  old  marquis  gave  them  letters  of  introduc- 
tion to  the  father  of  our  noble  lord,  with  whom  he  kept  up  a 
constant  correspondence.  Alas!  my  dear  De  Graiin,  perhaps 
but  for  these  introductions  many  misfortunes  would  have  been 
avoided,  for  then  Monseigneur  would  not  have  known  this 


RESEARCHES.  167 

woman.  When  the  Countess  Sarah  returned  hither,  knowing  the 
friendship  of  his  royal  highness  for  the  marquis,  she  presented 
herself  at  the  Hotel  d'Harville,  in  the  hope  of  meeting  Mon- 
seigneur ;  for  she  shows  as  much  pertinacity  in  pursuing  him  as 
he  evinces  resolution  to  avoid  her." 

"Only  imagine  her  disguising  herself  in  male  attire,  and 
following  him  into  the  Cite!  No  woman  but  she  would  have 
dreamt  of  such  a  thing." 

"  She,  perhaps,  hoped  by  such  a  step  to  touch  his  royal  high- 
ness, and  compel  him  to  an  interview,  which  he  has  always 
refused  and  avoided.  To  return  to  Madame  d'Harville :  her  hus- 
band, to  whom  Monseigneur  has  spoken  of  Sarah  as  she  deserved, 
has  begged  his  wife  to  see  her  as  seldom  as  possible;  but  the 
young  marchioness,  seduced  by  the  hypocritical  flatteries  of  the 
countess,  has  gone  somewhat  counter  to  the  marquis's  request. 
Some  trifling  differences  have  arisen,  but  not  of  sufficient  im- 
portance to  cause  or  explain  the  extreme  dejection  of  the 
marquis." 

"  Oh,  the  women !  the  women !  My  dear  Murphy,  I  am  very 
sorry  that  Madame  d'Harville  should  have  formed  any  acquaint- 
ance with  this  Sarah.  So  young  and  charming  a  woman  must 
suffer  by  the  contact  with  such  an  infernal " 

"  Talking  of  infernal  creatures,"  said  Murphy,  "  here  is  a 
communication  relative  to  Cecily,  the  unworthy  spouse  of  the 
excellent  David." 

"  Between  ourselves,  my  dear  Murphy,  this  audacious  metisse  * 
well  deserves  the  terrible  punishment  that  her  husband,  our  dear 
black  doctor,  has  inflicted  on  the  Schoolmaster  by  Monseigneur's 
order.  She  has  also  shed  blood,  and  her  unblushing  infamy  is 
astounding." 

"  Yet  she  is  so  very  handsome — so  seductive !  A  perverted 
mind  within  an  attractive  outside  always  inspires  me  with 
twofold  disgust." 

"  In  this  sense  Cecily  is  doubly  hateful.  But  I  hope  that  this 
despatch  annuls  the  last  orders  issued  by  Monseigneur  with 
regard  to  this  wretched  creature." 

"  On  the  contrary,  baron." 

"  My  lord,  then,  desires  that  her  escape  from  the  fortress  in 
which  she  had  been  shut  up  for  life  may  be  effected  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  that  her  pretended  ravisher  should  bring  her  to  France 
—to  Paris?" 

*  The  Creole  issue  of  a  white  and  Quadroon  slave.  The  metisses  only 
differ  from  the  white  by  some  peculiarities  hardly  perceptible. 


168  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Yes ;  and,  besides,  this  despatch  orders  the  arrangement  to 
be  carried  out  as  soon  as  possible,  and  that  Cecily  be  made  to 
travel  hither  so  speedily  that  she  may  arrive  here  in  a  fortnight." 

"  I  am  lost  in  astonishment !  Monseigneur  has  always  evinced 
such  a  horror  of  her !  " 

"And  that  horror  he  still  experiences;  if  possible,  stronger 
than  ever." 

"  And  yet  he  causes  her  to  be  sent  to  him !  To  be  sure,  it  will 
always  be  easy  to  apprehend  Cecily  again,  if  she  does  not  carry 
out  what  he  requires  of  her.  Orders  are  given  to  the  son  of  the 
jailer  of  the  fortress  of  Geralstein  to  carry  her  off,  as  if  he  were 
enamored  of  her,  and  every  facility  will,  be  given  to  him  for 
effecting  this  purpose.  Overjoyed  at  this  opportunity  of  escap- 
ing, the  metisse  will  follow  her  supposed  ravisher,  and  reach 
Paris;  then  she  will  always  have  her  sentence  of  condemna- 
tion hanging  over  her — always  be  but  an  escaped  prisoner, 
and  I  shall  be  always  ready,  when  it  shall  please  his  royal 
highness  to  desire,  again  to  lay  hands  upon  and  incarcerate 
her." 

"  I  should  tell  you,  my  dear  baron,  that  when  David  learned 
from  Monseigneur  of  the  proposed  arrival  of  Cecily,  he  was 
absolutely  petrified,  and  exclaimed, '  I  hope  that  your  royal  high- 
ness will  not  compel  me  to  see  the  monster  ? '  '  Make  yourself 
easy,'  replied  Monseigneur;  'you  shall  not  see  her,  but  I  may 
require  her  services  for  a  particular  purpose.'  David  felt  relieved 
of  an  enormous  weight  off  his  mind.  Nevertheless,  I  am  sure 
that  some  very  painful  reminiscences  were  awakened  in  his 
mind." 

"  Poor  Negro !  he  loves  her  still.  They  say,  too,  that  she  is 
yet  so  lovely !  " 

"  Charming ! — too  charming !  It  requires  the  pitiless  eye  of  a 
Creole  to  detect  the  mixed  blood  in  the  all  but  imperceptible 
shade  which  lightly  tinges  her  rosy  finger  nails.  Our  fresh  and 
hale  beauties  of  the  north  have  not  a  more  transparent  com- 
plexion, nor  a  skin  of  more  dazzling  whiteness." 

"  I  was  in  France  when  Monseigneur  returned  from  America, 
accompanied  by  David  and  Cecily,  and  I  know  that  that  excellent 
man  was  from  that  time  attached  to  his  royal  highness  by  ties 
of  the  strongest  gratitude;  but  I  never  learned  how  he  became 
attached  to  the  service  of  our  master,  and  how  he  had  married 
Cecily,  whom  I  saw,  for  the  first  time,  about  a  year  after  his 
marriage ;  and  God  knows  the  scandal  that  followed  !  " 

"I  can  tell  you  every  particular  that  you  may  wish  to  learn, 
my  dear  baron:  I  accompanied  Monseigneur  in  his  voyage  to 


HISTORY  OF  DA  VID  AND  CECILY.  169 

America,  when  he  rescued  David  and  the  metisse  from  the  most 
awful  fate." 

"  You  are  always  most  kind,  my  dear  Murphy,  and  I  am  all 
attention,"  said  the  baron. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

HISTORY   OF  DAVID  AND  CECILY. 

"  MR.  WILLIS,  a  rich  American  planter,  settled  in  Florida," 
said  Murphy,  "  had  discovered  in  one  of  his  young  black  slaves, 
named  David,  who  was  employed  in  the  infirmary  attached  to  his 
dwelling,  a  very  remarkable  degree  of  intelligence,  combined 
with  a  constant  and  deep  commiseration  for  the  sick  poor,  to 
whom  he  gave,  with  the  utmost  attention  and  care,  the  medicine 
ordered  by  the  doctors,  and,  moreover,  so  strong  a  prepossession 
for  the  study  of  botany,  as  applied  to  medicine,  that  without  any 
tuition  he  had  composed  and  classified  a  sort  of  Flora  of  the 
plants  round  the  dwelling  and  the  vicinity.  The  establishment 
of  Mr.  Willis,  situated  on  the  borders  of  the  sea,  was  fifteen  or 
twenty  leagues  from  the  nearest  town ;  and  the  medical  men  of 
the  district,  ignorant  as  they  were,  gave  themselves  no  great 
deal  of  care  or  trouble,  in  consequence  of  the  long  distance  and 
the  difficulty  in  procuring  any  means  of  conveyance.  Desirous 
of  remedying  so  extreme  an  inconvenience  in  a  country  subject 
to  violent  epidemics,  and  to  have  at  hand  at  all  times  a  skilful 
practitioner,  the  colonist  made  up  his  mind  to  send  David  to 
France  to  learn  surgery  and  medicine.  Enchanted  at  this  offer, 
the  young  black  set  out  for  Paris,  and  the  planter  paid  all  the 
expenses  of  his  course  of  study.  David,  having  for  eight  years 
studied  with  great  diligence  and  remarkable  effect,  received  the 
degree  of  surgeon  and  physician  with  most  distinguished  success, 
and  then  returned  to  America  to  place  himself  and  his  skill 
under  the  direction  of  his  master." 

"  But  David  ought  to  have  considered  himself  free  and  eman- 
cipated, in  fact  and  in  law,  when  he  set  foot  in  France." 

"  David's  loyalty  is  very  rare :  he  had  promised  Mr.  Willis  to 
return,  and  he  did  so.  He  did  not  consider  as  his  own  the  in- 
struction which  he  had  acquired  with  his  master's  money;  and, 
besides,  he  hoped  to  improve  morally  as  well  as  physically  the 
sufferings  of  the  slaves,  his  former  companions;  he  trusted  to 
become  not  only  their  doctor,  but  their  firm  friend  and  defender 
with  the  colonist." 


170  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"He  must,  indeed,  be  imbued  with  the  most  unflinching 
probity  and  the  most  intense  love  for  his  fellow-creatures  to 
return  to  a  master — an  owner,  after  having  spent  eight  years  in 
the  midst  of  the  society  of  the  most  democratic  young  men  in 
Europe." 

"Judge  of  the  man  by  this  one  trait.  Well,  he  returned  to 
Florida,  and,  truth  to  tell,  was  used  by  Mr.  Willis  with  con- 
sideration and  kindness,  eating  at  his  table,  sleeping  under  his 
roof.  But  this  colonist  was  as  stupid,  malevolent,  selfish,  and 
despotic,  as  most  Creoles  are,  and  he  thought  himself  very 
generous  in  giving  David  six  hundred  francs  (24L)  a-year  salary. 
At  the  end  of  some  months  a  terrible  typhus  fever  broke  out  in 
the  plantation :  Mr.  Willis  was  attacked  by  it,  but  soon  restored 
through  the  careful  attentions  and  efficacious  remedies  of  David. 
Out  of  thirty  Negroes  dangerously  affected  by  this  fatal  disease 
only  two  perished;  Mr.  Willis,  much  gratified  by  the  services 
which  David  had  so  auspiciously  rendered,  raised  his  wages  to 
twelve  hundred  francs,  to  the  extreme  gratification  of  the  black 
doctor,  whose  fellows  regarded  him  as  a  divinity  amongst  them, 
for  he  had,  with  much  difficulty  it  is  true,  obtained  from  their 
master  some  few  indulgences,  and  was  hoping  to  procure  still 
more.  In  the  meanwhile,  he  consoled  these  poor  people,  and 
exhorted  them  to  patience;  spake  to  them  of  God,  who  watches 
over  the  black  and  the  white  man  with  an  equal  eye;  of  another 
world  not  peopled  with  masters  and  slaves,  but  with  the  just  and 
the  unjust ;  of  another  life  in  eternity,  where  man  was  no  longer 
the  beast  of  burden — the  property — the  thing  of  his  fellow-man, 
but  where  the  victims  of  this  world  were  so  happy  that  they 
prayed  in  heaven  for  their  tormentors.  What  shall  I  tell  you 
more?  To  those  unhappy  wretches  who,  contrary  to  other  men, 
count  with  bitter  joy  the  hours  which  bring  them  nearer  to  the 
tomb — to  those  unfortunate  creatures  who  looked  forward  only 
to  nothingness  hereafter,  David  breathed  the  language  and  the 
hope  of  a  free  and  happy  immortality;  and  then  their  chains 
appeared  less  heavy  and  their  toil  less  irksome.  He  was  their 
idol.  A  year  passed  away  in  this  manner.  Amongst  the  hand- 
somest of  the  female  slaves  at  the  house  was  a  metisse,  about 
fifteen  years  of  age,  named  Cecily,  and  for  this  girl  Mr.  Willis 
took  a  fancy.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  his  advances  were 
repulsed  and  obstinately  resisted;  Cecily  was  in  love,  and  with 
David,  who,  during  the  late  fearful  distemper,  had  attended  her 
with  the  most  vigilant  care.  Afterwards  a  deep  and  mutual  love 
repaid  him  the  debt  of  gratitude.  David's  taste  was  too  refined 
to  allow  him  to  boast  of  his  happiness  before  the  time  when  he 


EISTOR  T  OF  DA  VID  AND  CECIL  T.  Ifl 

should  marry  Cecily,  which  was  to  be  when  she  had  turned  her 
sixteenth  year.  Mr.  Willis,  ignorant  of  their  love,  had  thrown 
his  handkerchief  right  royally  at  the  pretty  metisse,  and  she,  in 
deep  despair,  sought  David,  and  told  him  all  the  brutal  attempts 
that  she  had  been  subjected  to  and  with  difficulty  escaped.  The 
black  comforted  her,  and  instantly  went  to  Mr.  Willis  to  request 
her  hand  in  marriage." 

"  Diable!  my  dear  Murphy,  I  can  easily  surmise  the  answer  of 
the  American  sultan — he  refused  ?  " 

"  He  did.  He  said  he  had  an  inclination  for  the  girl  himself ; 
that  in  his  life  before  he  had  never  experienced  the  repulse  of  a 
slave;  he  meant  to  possess  her,  and  he  would.  David  might 
choose  another  wife  or  mistress,  whichsoever  might  best  suit  his 
inclination ;  there  were  in  the  plantation  ten  capusses  or  metisses 
as  pretty  as  Cecily.  David  talked  of  his  love — love  so  long  and 
tenderly  shared,  and  the  planter  shrugged  his  shoulders;  David 
urged,  but  it  was  all  in  vain.  The  Creole  had  the  cool  impudence 
to  tell  him  that  it  was  a  bad  example  to  see  a  master  concede  to  a 
slave,  and  that  he  would  not  set  that  'example*  to  satisfy  a 
caprice  of  David's !  He  entreated — supplicated,  and  his  master 
lost  his  temper.  David,  blushing  to  humiliate  himself  further, 
spoke  in  a  firm  tone  of  his  services  and  his  disinterestedness — 
that  he  had  been  contented  with  a  very  slender  salary.  Mr. 
Willis  was  desperately  enraged,  and,  telling  him  he  was  a  con- 
tumacious slave,  threatened  him  with  the  chain.  David  replied 
with  a  few  bitter  and  violent  words ;  and,  two  hours  afterwards, 
bound  to  a  stake,  his  skin  was  torn  with  the  lash,  whilst  they 
bore  Cecily  to  the  harem  of  the  planter  in  his  sight." 

" The  conduct  of  the  planter  was  brutal  and  horrible;  it  was 
adding  absurdity  to  cruelty,  for  he  must  after  that  have  required 
the  man's  services." 

"  Precisely  so ;  for  that  very  day  the  very  fury  into  which  he 
had  worked  himself,  joined  to  the  drunkenness  in  which  the 
brute  indulged  every  evening,  brought  on  an  inflammatory 
attack  of  the  most  dangerous  description,  the  symptoms  of  which 
appeared  with  rapidity  peculiar  to  such  affections.  The  planter 
was  carried  to  his  bed  in  a  state  of  the  highest  fever.  He  sent 
off  an  express  for  a  doctor,  but  he  could  not  reach  his  abode  in 
less  than  six-and-thirty  hours." 

"Really  this  attack  seems  providential.  The  desperate  con- 
dition of  the  man  was  quite  deserved  by  him." 

"  The  malady  made  fearful  strides.  David  only  could  save 
the  colonist,  but  Willis,  distrustful,  as  all  evil-doers  are, 
imagined  that  the  black  would  revenge  himself  by  administering 


172  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

poison;  for,  after  having  scourged  him  with  a  rod,  he  had  thrown 
him  into  prison.  At  last,  horrified  at  the  progress  of  his  illness, 
broken  down  by  bodily  anguish,  and  thinking  that,  as  death  also 
stared  him  in  the  face,  he  had  one  chance  left  in  trusting  to  the 
generosity  of  his  slave,  after  many  distrusting  doubts,  Willis 
ordered  David  to  be  unchained." 

"  And  David  saved  the  planter  ?  " 

"  For  five  days  and  five  nights  he  watched  and  tended  him  as 
if  he  had  been  his  father,  counteracting  the  disease,  step  by  step, 
with  great  skill  and  perfect  knowledge,  until,  at  last,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  defeating  it,  to  the  extreme  surprise  of  the  doctor  who 
had  been  sent  for,  and  who  did  not  arrive  until  the  second  day." 

"  And,  when  restored  to  health  at  last,  the  colonist " 

"  Not  desiring  to  blush  before  his  own  slave,  whose  presence 
constantly  oppressed  him  with  the  recollection  of  his  excessive 
nobleness  of  conduct,  the  colonist  made  an  enormous  sacrifice  to 
attach  the  doctor  he  had  sent  for  to  his  establishment,  and  David 
was  again  conducted  to  his  dungeon." 

"  Horrible !  but  by  no  means  astonishing.  David  must  have 
been  in  the  eyes  of  his  brutal  master  a  complete  living  remorse." 

"  Such  conduct  was  dictated  alike  by  revenge  and  jealousy. 
The  blacks  of  Mr.  Willis  loved  David  with  all  the  warmth  of 
gratitude,  for  he  had  saved  them  body  and  soul.  They  knew  the 
care  he  had  bestowed  on  him  when  he  lay  tossing  with  fever 
between  life  and  death,  and,  shaking  off  the  deadening  apathy 
which  ordinarily  besets  slavery,  these  unfortunate  creatures 
evinced  their  indignation,  or  rather  grief,  most  powerfully  when 
they  saw  David  lacerated  by  the  whip.  Mr.  Willis,  deeply  exas- 
perated, affected  to  discover  in  this  manifestation  the  appearance 
of  revolt,  and,  when  he  considered  the  influence  which  David  had 
acquired  over  the  slaves,  he  believed  him  capable  of  placing  him- 
self at  the  head  of  a  rebellion  to  avenge  himself  of  his  wrongs. 
This  fear  was  another  motive  with  the  colonist  for  using  David 
in  the  most  shameful  manner,  and  entirely  preventing  him  from 
effecting  the  malicious  designs  of  which  he  suspected  him." 

"  Considering  him  as  actuated  by  an  irrepressible  amount  of 
terror,  this  conduct  seems  less  stupid,  but  quite  as  ferocious." 

"A  short  time  after  these  events  we  arrived  in  America. 
Monseigneur  had  freighted  a  Danish  brig  at  St.  Thomas's,  and 
we  visited  incognito  all  the  settlements  of  the  American  coast 
along  which  we  were  sailing.  We  were  most  hospitably  received 
by  Mr.  Willis,  who,  the  evening  after  our  arrival,  after  he  had 
been  drinking,  and  as  much  from  the  excitement  of  wine  as  from 
a  desire  to  boast,  told  us.  in  a  horrid  tone  of  brutal  jesting,  the 


HISTORY  OF  DAVID  AND  CECILY.  173 

history  of  David  and  Cecily.  I  forgot  to  say  that,  after  having 
maltreated  the  girl,  he  had  thrown  her  into  a  dungeon  also,  as  a 
punishment  for  her  disdain  of  him.  His  royal  highness,  on  hear- 
ing Willis's  fearful  narration,  thought  the  man  was  either  drunk 
or  a  liar;  but  he  was  drunk — it  was  no  lie.  To  remove  any  and 
all  doubt,  the  colonist  rose  from  the  table,  and  desiring  a  slave 
to  bear  a  lantern  and  conduct  us  to  David's  cell." 

"Well,  what  followed?" 

"  In  my  life  I  never  saw  so  distressing  a  spectacle.  Pale,  wan, 
meager,  half-naked,  and  covered  with  wounds,  David  and  the 
unhappy  girl,  chained  \>y  the  middle  of  the  body,  one  at  one  end 
and  the  other  at  the  other  end  of  the  dungeon,  looked  like 
specters.  The  lantern  that  lighted  us  threw  over  this  scene  a 
still  more  ghastly  hue.  David  did  not  utter  a  word  when  he  saw 
us ;  his  gaze  was  fixed  and  fearful.  The  colonist  said  to  him, 
with  cruel  irony,  *  Well,  doctor,  how  goes  it  ?  You,  who  are  so 
clever,  why  don't  you  cure  yourself?'  The  black  replied  by  a 
noble  word  and  a  dignified  gesture;  he  raised  his  right  hand 
slowly,  his  fore-finger  pointed  to  the  roof,  and,  without  looking 
at  the  colonist,  said  in  a  solemn  tone,  *  GOD  ! '  and  then  was 
silent.  'God?'  replied  the  planter,  bursting  into  a  loud  fit  of 
laughter,  '  tell  him  then — tell  God  to  come  and  snatch  you  from 
my  power !  I  defy  him ! '  Then  Willis,  overcome  by  fury  and 
intoxication,  shook  his  fist  to  heaven,  and  said,  in  blasphemous 
language,  '  Yes,  I  defy  God  to  carry  off  my  slaves  before  they 
are  dead ! ' 

"  The  man  was  mad  as  well  as  brutal." 

"  We  were  utterly  disgusted :  Monseigneur  did  not  say  a  word, 
and  we  left  the  cell.  This  dungeon  was  situated,  as  well  as  the 
house,  on  the  seashore.  We  returned  to  our  brig,  which  was 
moored  a  short  distance  off,  and  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
when  all  in  the  building  were  plunged  in  profound  sleep,  Mon- 
seigneur went  on  shore  with  eight  men  well  armed,  and,  going 
straight  to  the  prison,  burst  open  the  doors,  and  freed  David  and 
Cecily.  The  two  victims  were  carried  on  board  so  quietly  that 
they  were  not  perceived;  and  then  Monseigneur  and  I  went  to 
the  planter's  house.  Strange  contrast!  these  men  torture  their 
slaves,  and  yet  do  not  take  any  precaution  against  them,  but 
sleep  with  doors  and  windows  open.  We  easily  got  access  to  the 
sleeping-room  of  the  planter,  which  was  lighted  on  the  inside  by 
a  small  glass  lamp;  Monseigneur  awakened  the  man,  who  sat 
upright  in  his  bed,  his  brain  still  disturbed  by  the  effect  of  his 
drunkenness.  '  You  have  to-night  defied  God  to  carry  off  your 
two  victims  before  their  death,  and  He  has  taken  them,'  said 


174:  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

Monseigneur.  Then  taking  a  bag  which  I  carried,  and  which 
contained  twenty-five  thousand  francs  in  gold,  he  threw  it  on  the 
fellow's  bed,  and  added,  *  This  will  indemnify  you  for  the  loss 
of  your  two  slaves — to  your  violence  that  destroys  I  oppose  a 
violence  that  saves.  God  will  judge  between  us/  We  then 
retreated,  leaving  Mr.  Willis  stupefied,  motionless,  and  believing 
himself  under  the  influence  of  a  dream.  A  few  minutes  later 
and  we  were  again  on  board  the  brig,  which  instantly  set  sail." 

"  It  appears  to  me,  my  dear  Murphy,  that  his  royal  highness 
overpaid  this  wretch  for  the  loss  of  his  slaves ;  for,  in  fact,  David 
no  longer  belonged  to  him." 

"  We  calculated,  as  nearly  as  we  could,  the  expense  which  his 
studies  had  cost  for  eight  years,  and  then  the  price,  thrice  over, 
of  himself  and  Cecily  as  slaves.  Our  conduct  was  contrary  to 
the  rights  of  property,  I  know;  but  if  you  had  seen  in  what  a 
horrible  state  we  found  these  unfortunate  and  half-dead  couple — 
if  you  had  heard  the  sacrilegious  defiance  almost  cast  in  the  face 
of  the  Almighty  by  this  man,  drunk  with  wine  and  ferocity,  you 
would  comprehend  how  Monseigneur  desired,  as  he  said,  on  this 
occasion,  to  act  as  it  were  in  behalf  of  Providence" 

"  All  this  is  assailable  and  as  justifiable  as  the  punishment 
of  the  Schoolmaster,  my  worthy  squire.  And  had  not  this 
adventure  any  consequences  ?  " 

"  It  could  not.  The  brig  was  under  Danish  colors — the  incog- 
nito of  his  royal  highness  was  closely  kept — we  were  taken  for 
rich  Englishmen.  To  whom  could  Willis  have  addressed  his 
complaints,  if  he  had  any  to  make?  In  fact,  he  had  told  us 
himself,  and  the  medical  man  of  Monseigneur  declared  it  in  a 
proces  verbal,  that  the  two  slaves  could  not  have  lived  eight  days 
longer  in  this  frightful  dungeon.  It  required  the  greatest  pos- 
sible care  to  snatch  David  and  Cecily  from  almost  certain  death. 
At  last  they  were  restored  to  life.  From  this  period  David  has 
been  attached  to  the  suite  of  Monseigneur  as  a  medical  man,  and 
is  most  devotedly  attached  to  him." 

"  David  married  Cecily,  of  course,  on  arriving  in  Europe  ?  " 

"  This  marriage,  which  ought  to  have  been  followed  by  results 
so  happy,  took  place  in  the  chapel  of  the  palace  of  Monseigneur ; 
but,  by  a  most  extraordinary  revulsion  of  conduct,  hardly  was 
she  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  an  unhoped-for  position,  when,  for- 
getting all  that  David  had  suffered  for  her  and  what  she  had 
suffered  for  him,  blushing  in  the  new  world  to  be  wedded  to  a 
black,  Cecily,  seduced  by  a  man  of  most  depraved  morals,  com- 
mitted her  first  fault.  It  would  seem  as  though  the  natural  per- 
versity of  this  abandoned  woman,  having  till  then  slumbered, 


HISTOR  Y  OF  DA  VID  AND  CECIL  T.  175 

was  suddenly  awakened,  and  developed  itself  with  fearful  energy. 
You  know  the  rest,  and  all  the  scandal  of  the  adventures  that 
followed.  After  having  been  two  years  a  wife,  David,  whose 
confidence  in  her  was  only  equaled  by  his  love,  learned  the  full 
extent  of  her  infamy — a  thunderbolt  aroused  him  from  his  blind 
security." 

"  They  say  he  tried  to  kill  his  wife." 

"  Yes ;  but,  through  the  interference  of  Monseigneur,  he  con- 
sented to  allow  her  to  be  immured  for  life  in  a  prison,  and  it  is 
thence  that  Monseigneur  now  seeks  to  have  her  released — to 
your  great  astonishment,  as  well  as  mine,  my  dear  baron.  But 
it  is  growing  late,  and  his  royal  highness  is  anxious  that  your 
courier  should  start  for  Geralstein  with  as  little  delay  as  pos- 
sible." 

"  In  two  hours'  time  he  shall  be  on  the  road.  So  now,  my  dear 
Murphy,  farewell  till  the  evening." 

"  Till  the  evening,  adieu." 

"  Have  you,  then,  forgotten  that  there  is  a  grand  ball  at  the 
*  *  *  Embassy,  and  that  his  royal  highness  will  be  present?  " 

"  True.  I  have  always  forgotten  that,  since  the  absence  of 
Colonel  Verner  and  the  Count  d'Harneim,  I  have  the  honor  to 
fulfil  the  functions  of  chamberlain  and  aide-de-camp." 

"  Ah,  apropos  of  the  count  and  the  colonel,  when  may  we 
expect  their  return?  Will  they  have  soon  completed  their  re- 
spective missions  ?  " 

"You  know  that  Monseigneur  will  keep  them  away  as  long 
as  possible,  that  he  may  enjoy  more  solitude  and  liberty.  As  to 
the  errand  on  which  his  royal  highness  has  employed  each  of 
them,  as  an  ostensible  motive  for  getting  rid  of  them  in  a  quiet 
way — sending  one  to  Avignon  and  the  other  to  Strasbourg — I 
will  tell  you  all  about  it  some  day,  when  we  are  both  in  a  dull 
mood ;  for  I  will  defy  the  most  hypochondriacal  person  in  exist- 
ence not  to  burst  with  laughter  at  the  narrative,  as  well  as  with 
certain  passages  in  the  despatches  of  these  worthy  gentlemen, 
who  have  assumed  their  pretended  missions  with  so  serious  an 
air." 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  I  have  never  clearly  understood  why  his 
royal  highness  attached  the  colonel  and  the  count  to  his  private 
person." 

"Why,  my  dear  fellow,  is  not  Colonel  Verner  the  accurate 
type  of  military  perfection?  Is  there,  in  the  whole  Germanic 
confederation,  a  more  elegant  figure,  more  flourishing  and  splen- 
did moustaches,  and  a  more  complete  military  figure?  And 
when  he  is  fully  decorated,  screwed  in,  uniformed,  gold-laced, 


176  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

plumed,  etc.,  etc.,  it  is  impossible  to  see  a  more  glorious,  self- 
satisfied,  proud,  handsome — animal." 

"  True ;  but  it  is  his  very  good  looks  that  prevent  him  from 
having  the  appearance  of  a  man  of  refined  and  acute  intellect." 

"  Well !  and  Monseigneur  says  that,  thanks  to  the  colonel,  he 
is  in  the  habit  of  finding  even  the  dullest  people  in  the  world 
bearable.  Before  certain  audiences,  which  are  of  necessity,  he 
shuts  himself  up  with  the  colonel  for  a  half-hour  or  so,  and  then 
leaves  him,  full  of  spirits  and  light  as  air,  quite  ready  to  meet 
bores  and  defy  them." 

"  Just  as  the  Eoman  soldier  who,  before  a  forced  march,  used 
to  sole  his  sandals  with  lead,  and  so  found  all  fatigue  light  by 
leaving  them  off,  I  now  discover  the  usefulness  of  the  colonel. 
But  the  Count  d'Harneim?" 

"  Is  also  very  serviceable  to  our  dear  lord;  for,  always  hearing 
at  his  side  the  tinkling  of  this  old  cracked  bell,  shining  and 
chattering — continually  seeing  this  soap-bubble  so  puffed  up 
with  nothingness,  so  magnificently  variegated,  and,  as  such,  por- 
traying the  theatrical  and  puerile  phase  of  sovereign  power — his 
royal  highness  feels  the  more  sensibly  the  vanity  of  those  barren 
pomps  and  glories  of  the  world,  and,  by  contrast,  has  often 
derived  the  most  serious  and  happy  ideas  from  the  contempla- 
tion of  his  useless  and  pattering  chamberlain." 

"  Well,  well ;  but  let  us  be  just,  my  dear  Murphy :  tell  me,  in 
what  court  in  the  world  would  you  find  a  more  perfect  model  of 
a  chamberlain?  Who  knows  better  than  dear  old  D'Harneim 
the  numberless  rules  and  strict  observances  of  etiquette?  Who 
bears  with  more  becoming  demeanor  an  enameled  cross  round 
his  neck,  or  more  majestically  comports  himself  when  the  keys 
of  office  are  suspended  from  his  shoulders?" 

"Apropos,  baron;  Monseigneur  declares  that  the  shoulders  of 
a  chamberlain  have  a  peculiar  physiognomy :  that  is,  he  says,  an 
appearance  at  once  constrained  and  repulsive,  which  it  is  pain- 
ful to  look  at;  for,  alas  and  alackaday!  it  is  at  the  back  of  a 
chamberlain  that  the  symbol  of  his  office  glitters,  and,  as  Mon- 
seigneur avers,  the  worthy  D'Harneim  always  seems  tempted  to 
present  himself  backwards,  that  his  importance  may  at  once  be 
seen,  felt,  and  acknowledged." 

"  The  fact  is,  that  the  incessant  subject  of  the  count's  medi- 
tations is  to  ascertain  by  what  fatal  imagination  and  direction 
the  chamberlain's  key  has  been  placed  behind  the  chamberlain's 
back;  for  it  is  related  of  him  that  he  said,  with  his  accustomed 
good  sense,  and  with  a  kind  of  bitter  grief,  '  What,  the  devil ! 
one  does  not  open  a  door  with  one's  back,  at  all  events ! ' J: 


A  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  DU  TEMPLE.  177 

"  Baron,  the  courier !  the  courier !  "  said  Murphy,  pointing  to 
the  clock. 

"  Sad  old  reprobate,  to  make  me  chatter  thus !  it  is  your  fault. 
Present  my  respects  to  his  royal  highness,"  said  M.  de  Graun, 
taking  his  hat  up  in  haste.  "  And  now,  adieu  till  the  evening, 
my  dear  Murphy." 

"  Till  the  evening,  my  dear  baron,  fare  thee  well.  It  will  be 
late  before  we  meet,  for  I  am  sure  that  Monseigneur  will  go  this 
very  day  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  mysterious  house  in  the  Rue  du 
Temple." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  DU  TEMPLE. 

IN  order  to  profit  by  the  particulars  furnished  by  Baron  de 
Graiin  respecting  La  Goualeuse  and  Germain,  the  Schoolmaster's 
son,  it  became  necessary  for  Rodolph  to  visit  the  house  in  the 
Rue  du  Temple,  formerly  the  abode  of  that  young  man,  whose 
retreat  the  prince  likewise  hoped  to  discover  through  the  inter- 
vention of  Mademoiselle  Rigolette.  Although  prepared  to  find  it 
a  difficult  task,  inasmuch  as  it  was  more  than  probable,  if  the 
grisette  were  really  sufficiently  in  Germain's  confidence  to  be 
aware  of  his  present  abode,  she  also  knew  too  well  his  anxiety  to 
conceal  it  to  be  likely  to  give  the  desired  information. 

By  renting  the  chamber  lately  occupied  by  the  young  man, 
Rodolph,  besides  being  on  the  spot  to  follow  up  his  researches, 
considered  he  should  also  be  enabled  to  observe  closely  the  differ- 
ent individuals  inhabiting  the  rest  of  the  house. 

The  same  day  on  which  the  conversation  passed  between  the 
Baron  de  Graiin  and  Murphy,  Rodolph,  plainly  and  unpretend- 
ingly dressed,  wended  his  way  about  three  o'clock,  on  a  gloomy 
November  afternoon,  towards  the  Rue  du  Temple. 

Situated  in  a  district  of  much  business  and  dense  population, 
the  house  in  question  had  nothing  remarkable  in  its  appearance : 
it  was  composed  of  a  ground-floor,  occupied  by  a  man  keeping  a 
low  sort  of  dram-shop,  and  four  upper  stories,  surmounted  by 
attics.  A  dark  and  narrow  alley  led  to  a  small  yard,  or,  rather, 
a  species  of  square  well,  of  about  five  or  six  feet  in  width,  com- 
pletely destitute  of  either  air  or  light,  and  serving  as  a  pestilen- 
tial receptacle  for  all  the  filth  thrown  by  the  various  occupants 
of  the  respective  chambers  from  the  unglazed  sashes  with  which 
each  landing-place  was  provided. 


ITS  fRB  MYSTERIES  OP  PARIS. 

At  the  bottom  of  a  damp,  dismal-looking  staircase,  a  glimmer- 
ing light  indicated  the  porter's  residence,  rendered  smoky  and 
dingy  by  the  constant  burning  of  a  lamp,  requisite,  even  at  mid- 
day, to  enlighten  the  gloomy  hole,  into  which  Eodolph  entered 
for  the  purpose  of  asking  leave  to  view  the  apartment  then 
vacant. 

A  lamp,  placed  behind  a  glass  globe  filled  with  water,  served 
as  a  reflector ;  and  by  its  light  might  be  -seen,  at  the  far  end  of 
the  lodge  (as  in  courtesy  it  was  styled),  a  bed,  covered  with  a 
sort  of  patchwork  counterpane,  exhibiting  a  mingled  mass  of 
every  known  color  and  material.  A  walnut-tree  table  graced  the 
side  of  the  room,  bearing  a  variety  of  articles  suited  to  the  taste 
and  ornamental  notions  of  its  owners.  First  in  order  appeared  a 
little  waxen  St.  John,  with  a  very  fat  lamb  at  his  feet,  and  a 
large  peruke  of  flowing  white  curls  on  his  head,  the  whole  en- 
closed in  a  cracked  glass-case,  the  joinings  of  which  were  in- 
geniously secured  by  slips  of  blue  paper;  secondly,  a  pair  of  old 
plated  candlesticks,  tarnished  by  time,  and  bearing,  instead  of 
lights,  two  gilded  oranges — doubtless  an  offering  to  the  porteress 
on  the  last  new-year's  day ;  and,  thirdly,  two  boxes,  the  one  com- 
posed of  variegated  straw,  the  other  covered  with  multitudinous 
shells,  but  both  smelling  strongly  of  the  galleys  or  house  of 
correction  * — (let  us  hope,  for  the  sake  of  the  morality  of  the 
porteress  in  the  Rue  du  Temple,  that  these  precious  specimens 
were  not  presented  to  her  from  the  original  owners  and  fabri- 
cators of  them)  ; — and,  lastly,  between  the  two  boxes,  and  just 
beneath  a  circular  clock,  was  suspended  a  pair  of  red  morocco 
dress-boots,  small  enough  for  the  feet  of  fairies,  bul  elaborately 
and  skilfully  designed  and  completed.  This  chef-d'oeuvre,  as  the 
ancient  masters  of  the  craft  would  style  them,  joined  to  the  fan- 
tastic designs  sketched  on  the  walls  representing  boots  and  shoes, 
abundantly  indicated  that  the  porter  of  this  establishment  de- 
voted his  time  and  his  talents  to  the  repairing  of  shoes  and  shoe 
leather. 

At  the  instant  when  Rodolph  ventured  into  the  smoky  den, 
Monsieur  Pipelet,  the  porter,  temporarily  absent,  had  left  his 
better  half,  Madame  Pipelet,  as  his  representative.  This  indi- 
vidual was  seated  by  the  stove  in  the  center  of  the  lodge,  deeply 
engrossed  in  watching  the  boiling  of  a  pot  placed  over  it.  The 
description  of  Madame  Pipelet  may  be  given  in  a  few  words. 
She  was  the  most  ugly,  forbidding,  wrinkled,  toothless  old  hag, 

*  These  boxes  were  the  exclusive  manufacture  of  the  criminals  confined 
either  in  the  galleys  or  prisons,  and  who  spent  nearly  all  their  spare  hours 
in  making  them. 


THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  DU  TEMPLE.  179 

9ne  might  meet  with  in  the  course  of  a  long  life.  Her  dress  was 
dirty,  tawdry,  and  untidy;  while  her  head-dress  was  composed 
of  a  Brutus  wig,  originally  of  a  blonde  color,  but  changed  by  time 
into  every  shade  of  red,  brown,  and  yellow,  the  stiff  ends  of  the 
perished  hair  standing  out  like  the  ears  of  wheat  in  a  wheat- 
sheaf.  Much  did  Madame  Pipelet  pride  herself  upon  this  taste- 
ful covering  to  her  sexagenarian  skull;  nor  was  it  believed  she 
ever  laid  it  aside,  whether  sleeping  or  waking. 

At  the  sight  of  Rodolph  the  porteress  inquired,  in  a  surly  tone, 

"  Well,  and  pray  what  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  believe,  madam,"  replied  Eodolph,  laying  a  profound 
emphasis  on  the  word  madam,  "  I  believe  there  is  an  apartment 
to  be  let  in  this  house?" 

The  deep  respect  implied  in  his  voice  and  words  somewhat 
mollified  the  porteress,  who  answered,  rather  less  sourly, 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  room  to  let  on  the  fourth  floor,  but  you  can- 
not see  it  now — Alfred  has  gone  out." 

"  You  are  speaking  of  your  son,  I  presume,  madam :  may  I 
take  the  liberty  of  asking  whether  he  is  expected  in  shortly  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  speaking  of  my  son,  but  my  husband.  I  suppose 
there  is  no  act  of  parliament  why  my  Pipelet  should  not  be  called 
'Alfred.'  Is  there,  pray  ?" 

"  None,  certainly,  madam,  that  I  am  aware  of :  but,  with  your 
kind  permission,  I  will  await  his  return.  I  am  very  desirous  of 
taking  the  vacant  chamber — both  the  street  and  neighborhood 
suit  me ;  and  the  admirable  order  in  which  the  house  seems  kept, 
%  pleases  me  excessively.  But,  previously  to  viewing  the  lodging 
I  am  anxious  to  take,  I  should  be  very  glad  to  ascertain  whether 
you,  madam,  could  do  me  the  favor  to  take  the  management  of 
my  little  housekeeping  off  my  hands?  I  never  like  to  have  any 
one  about  me  but  the  authorized  housekeeper  belonging  to  the 
house,  when  such  arrangements  meet  with  their  approbation." 

This  proposition,  so  flatteringly  expressed,  and  the  word 
"housekeeper,"  completely  won  Madame  Pipelet,  who  replied, 

"  With  the  greatest  of  pleasure,  sir,  I  will  attend  to  all  you 
require.  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  proud  to  wait  upon  such  a  gentle- 
man ;  and,  for  the  small  charge  of  six  francs  a-month,  you  shall 
be  treated  like  a  prince." 

"  Then,  for  six  francs  a  month,  I  may  reckon  upon  your 
valuable  services.  Will  you  permit  me  to  ask  your  name  ?  " 

"  Pomona-Fortunata-Anasteia  Pipelet." 

"Well,  then,  Madame  Pipelet,  having  agreed  as  to  your  own 
terms,  will  you  be  pleased  to  tell  me  those  for  the  apartment  I 
wish  to  engage?" 


180  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  With  the  adjoining  small  closet,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
francs  a  month — not  a  farthing  less.  The  principal  lessee  is  a 
screw — a  regular  skinflint." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  Bras  Rouge." 

This  name,  and  the  remembrances  so  unexpectedly  presented 
by  it,  made  Rodolph  start. 

"  I  think,  Madame  Pipelet,  you  were  saying  that  the  principal 
lessee  of  the  house  is " 

"  M.  Bras  Rouge." 

"And  he  lives " 

"Rue  aux  Feves,  No.  13.  He  also  keeps  an  estaminet  near 
the  Champs  Elysees." 

All  doubt  was  then  at  an  end — it  was  the  Bras  Rouge  of  in- 
famous notoriety;  and  singular  indeed  did  the  circumstance  of 
thus  coming  across  him  strike  Rodolph. 

"  But  though  M.  Bras  Rouge  is  your  principal  lessee,  he  is  not, 
I  presume,  the  owner  of  the  house :  may  I  ask  who  is  ?  " 

"  M.  Bourdon :  but  I  have  never  had  communication  with  any 
one  besides  M.  Bras  Rouge." 

With  the  design  of  still  further  ingratiating  himself  with  the 
porteress,  Rodolph  resumed: 

"  My  dear  madam,  this  cold  day  would  make  a  little  of  some- 
thing warm  and  comfortable  very  acceptable.  Might  I  venture 
to  solicit  the  favor  of  your  stepping  as  far  as  the  spirit-shop, 
kept  so  conveniently  at  hand,  and  bring  a  bottle  of  cassia  and 
two  glasses?  for  I  feel  very  tired,  and  the  cold  has  quite  seized 
me.  Stay,  madam,  we  will  have  three  glasses,  if  you  please; 
because  I  hope  your  husband  will  join  us  when  he  returns." 

So  saying,  he  placed  a  franc  in  the  fat,  dirty  hand,  of  the 
porteress. 

"  Ah,  monsieur,  you  are  determined  to  make  us  all  fall  in  love 
with  you ! "  cried  Madame  Pipelet,  nodding  her  approval  of  the 
commission,  and  thereby  sending  the  flush  of  pleasure  into  a 
face  glowing  with  all  the  fiery  honors  of  an  excited  Bac- 
chante. 

"To  be  sure!  There  is  nothing  like  a  drop  of  really  good 
cordial  such  a  day  as  this ;  and  they  do  keep  most  excellent  here 
at  hand.  I'll  go — of  course  I  will:  but  I  shall  only  bring  a 
couple  of  glasses,  for  Alfred  and  I  always  drink  out  of  the  same 
glass.  Poor  old  darling!  he  is  so  very  nice  and  particular  in 
showing  all  those  sort  of  delicate  attentions  to  women." 

"  Then  go  along,  my  good  Madame  Pipelet,  and  we  will  wait 
till  Alfred  comes." 


A  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  DU  TEMPLE.  181 

"  But,  then,  suppose  anyone  wants  me  whilst  I  am  out,  who 
will  mind  the  lodge  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I'll  take  care  of  the  lodge." 

The  old  woman  departed  on  her  agreeable  errand. 

At  the  termination  of  a  few  minutes  the  postman  tapped  at 
the  lodge  window,  and  putting  his  hand  into  the  apartment 
presented  two  letters,  merely  saying,  "  Three  sous." 

"  Six  sous,  you  mean,  for  two  letters,"  replied  Rodolph. 

"  One  is  free/'  answered  the  man. 

Having  paid  and  dismissed  the  postman,  Rodolph  mechani- 
cally examined  the  two  letters  thus  committed  to  his  charge ;  but 
at  a  further  glance  they  seemed  to  him  worthy  a  more  attentive 
observation.  The  epistle  addressed  to  Madame  Pipelet  exhaled 
through  its  hot-pressed  envelope  a  strong  odor  of  russia  leather : 
it  bore,  on  a  seal  of  red  wax,  the  initials  "  C.  R.,"  surmounted 
by  a  helmet,  and  supported  by  a  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 
The  direction  was  written  in  a  firm,  bold  hand.  The  heraldic 
device  of  the  commingled  casque  and  cross  made  Rodolph  smile, 
and  confirmed  him  in  the  idea  that  the  writer  of  the  letter  in 
question  was  not  a  female.  Who  was  this  scented,  emblazoned 
correspondent  of  old  Anastasia  Pipelet?  Rodolph  felt  an  un- 
definable  curiosity  to  know.  The  other  epistle,  written  upon 
coarse  and  common  paper,  was  united  only  by  a  common  wafer, 
pricked  over  with  the  point  of  a  pin,  and  was  addressed  to  "  M. 
Cesar  Bradamanti,  Operating  Dentist."  Evidently  disguised, 
the  superscription  was  entirely  composed  of  capital  letters. 
Whether  founded  on  a  true  or  false  presage,  this  letter  seemed 
to  Rodolph  to  wear  a  mournful  look,  as  though  evil  or  misery 
were  contained  within  its  shabby  folds.  He  perceived  that  some 
of  the  letters  in  the  direction  were  fainter  than  the  others,  and 
that  the  paper  there  seemed  a  little  rumpled :  a  tear  had  evidently 
fallen  upon  it. 

Madame  Pipelet  returned,  bearing  the  bottle  of  cassia  and  two 
glasses : 

"I  have  dawdled — have  I  not,  monsieur?"  said  she,  gaily. 
"  But  let  you  once  get  into  that  good  Pere  Joseph's  shop,  and  it 
is  hard  work  to  get  out  again.  Oh!  that  old  man  is  a  very 
insinuating " 

"  Here,  madam,"  interrupted  Rodolph,  "  here  are  two  letters 
the  postman  left  while  you  were  gone." 

"  Dear  me !  two  letters !  Pray  excuse  me,  monsieur.  I  sup- 
pose you  paid  for  them  ?  " 

"I  did." 

"  You  are  very  good.    I  tell  you  what,  then,  we  will  settle  that 


182  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

out  of  the  first  money  you  have  to  pay  me:  how  much  was  it? " 

"  Three  sous,"  answered  Eodolph,  much  amused  at  the  in- 
genious method  of  reimbursement  employed  by  Madame  Pipelet. 
"  But  may  I,  without  offense,  observe  that  one  of  the  letters  is 
addressed  to  you,  and  that  you  possess  in  the  writer  a  correspond- 
ent whose  billets  doux  are  marvelously  well  perfumed  ?  " 

"Let  us  see  what  it  is  about,"  said  the  porteress,  taking  the 
epistle  in  the  scented  envelope.  "  Yes,  upon  my  word,  it  is 
scented  up  like  a  real  billet  doux!  Now,  I  should  very  much  like 
to  know  who  would  dare  write  ME  a  love-letter!  He  must  be  a 
villain !  " 

"And  suppose  it  had  fallen  into  your  husband's  hands, 
Madame  Pipelet?" 

"  Oh !  for  goodness*  sake  don't  mention  that,  or  I  shall  faint 
away  in  your  arms!  But  how  stupid  I  am!  Now  I  know  all 
about  it,"  replied  the  fat  porteress,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 
"To  be  sure!  to  be  sure!  it  comes  from  the  Commandant! 
Lord  bless  me,  what  a  fright  I  have  had !  for  Alfred  is  as  jealous 
as  a  Turk." 

"  Here  is  another  letter,  addressed  to  M.  Cesar  Bradamanti." 

"  Ah !  to  be  sure,  the  dentist  on  the  third  floor.  I  will  put  it 
in  the  LETTER-BOOT." 

Eodolph  fancied  he  had  not  caught  the  right  words,  but,  to  his 
astonishment,  he  saw  Madame  Pipelet  gravely  throw  the  letter 
alluded  to  into  an  old  top-boot  hanging  up  against  the  wall.  He 
looked  at  her  with  surprise. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  to  put  the  gentleman's 
letter  in " 

"  Oh,  yes !  that  is  all  right,"  replied  the  porteress.  "  I  have 
put  it  in  the  LETTER-BOOT — there,  you  see.  So  now  nobody's 
letters  can  be  mislaid;  and  when  the  different  lodgers  return 
home,  Alfred  or  myself  turn  the  boot  upside  down — we  sort  them 
out,  and  everybody  gets  his  own." 

So  saying,  the  porteress  proceeded  to  break  the  seal  of  the 
letter  addressed  to  her;  which  having  done,  she  turned  it  round 
and  round,  looked  at  it  in  every  direction,  then,  after  a  short 
appearance  of  embarrassment  and  uncertainty,  she  said  to 
Rodolph, 

"  Alfred  generally  reads  my  letters  for  me,  because  I  do  not 
happen  to  be  able  to  read  them  myself;  perhaps  you  would  not 
mind  just  looking  over  this  for  me  ?  " 

"  With  the  utmost  pleasure ! "  quickly  replied  Rodolph,  curi- 
ous to  dive  into  the  mysteries  of  who  Madame  Pipelet's  corre- 
spondent might  be ;  and  forthwith  he  read  what  follows,  written 


A  SO V8E  IN  THE  RUE  DU  TEMPLE.  183 

upon  hot-pressed  paper,  stamped  in  its  right-hand  corner  with 
the  helmet,  the  letters  "  C.  K.,"  the  heraldic  supporters,  and  the 
cross  of  honor. 

"To-morrow  (Friday),  about  eleven  o'clock,  let  there  be  a 
good  (not  an  over-fierce)  fire  be  lighted  in  both  rooms;  have 
everything  well  dusted,  and  remove  the  coverings  from  the 
furniture,  taking  especial  care  not  to  scratch  the  gilding,  or  to 
soil  or  burn  the  carpet  while  lighting  the  fires.  If  I  should  not 
be  in  about  one  o'clock,  when  a  lady  will  arrive  in  a  hackney- 
coach  and  inquire  for  me  by  the  name  of  M.  Charles,  let  her  be 
shown  up  to  the  apartment;  after  which  the  key  is  to  be  taken 
down-stairs  again,  and  kept  till  my  arrival." 

Spite  of  the  want  of  finished  composition  displayed  in  this 
billet,  Eodolph  perfectly  comprehended  to  whom  and  what  it 
alluded,  and  merely  added,  after  perusing  it, 

"  Who  lives  on  the  first  floor,  then?  " 

The  old  woman  placed  her  yellow,  shriveled  finger,  upon  her 
pendulous  lip,  and  replied,  by  a  half-malicious  grin, 

"  Hush !  there  is  a  woman  in  the  way — silence !  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Madame  Pipelet,  I  merely  asked  because,  before 
living  in  a  house,  one  likes  to  know  a  little." 

"  Yes,  yes !  Of  course,  everybody  likes  to  know  all  they  can : 
that  is  all  fair  enough ;  and  I  am  sure  I  have  no  objection  to  tell 
you  all  I  know  myself,  and  that  is  but  very  little.  Well,  but  to 
begin.  About  six  weeks  ago  a  carpet-maker  came  here  to  look 
at  the  first  floor,  which  was  then  to  let,  and  to  ask  the  price,  and 
other  particulars  about  it.  Next  day  he  came  again,  accom- 
panied by  a  young  man  of  fair  complexion,  small  moustaches, 
and  wearing  a  cross  of  honor  and  very  fine  linen.  The  carpet- 
maker  called  him  Commandant." 

"  A  military  man,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  Eodolph. 

"  Military ! "  exclaimed  Madame  Pipelet,  with  a  chuckle. 
"  Not  he !  Why,  Alfred  might  as  well  call  himself  porter  to  a 
prince." 

"How  so?" 

"  Why,  he  is  only  in  the  National  Guard !  The  carpet-maker 
only  called  him  commandant  to  flatter  him:  just  the  same  as  it 
tickles  up  Alfred's  vanity  to  be  styled  concierge  instead  of  porter. 
So  when  the  commandant  (that  is  the  only  name  we  know  him 
by)  had  looked  over  the  rooms,  he  said  to  the  upholsterer,  his 
friend,  '  Well,  I  think  the  place  will  do  for  me — just  see  the 
landlord,  and  arrange  all  about  it/  'Yes,  commandant,'  says 
the  other.  And  the  very  next  day  the  upholsterer-man  signed 
the  lease  with  M.  Bras  Kouge  (in  his  own  name,  mind  you) ; 


184  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

and,  further,  paid  six  months  in  advance,  because,  he  said,  the 
gentleman  did  not  wish  to  be  bored  about  references.  And  such 
a  power  of  fine  furniture  as  was  sent  into  the  first  floor ! 
iSophesus  (sarcophagus)  curtains,  all  silk ;  glasses  set  in  gold,  and 
everything  you  can  mention,  all  beautiful  enough  to  astonish 
you ;  just,  for  all  the  world,  like  one  of  them  grand  cafes  on  the 
Boulevards !  As  for  the  carpets !  oh !  you  never  trod  on  the  like 
of  them,  I'll  be  bound.  Put  your  foot  on  them,  and  you'd  fancy 
you  was  stepping  on  velvet,  and  take  it  off  again  for  fear  of 
spoiling  it.  When  everything  was  completed,  the  commandant 
came  to  look  at  it — just  to  see  if  he  could  find  out  anything  more 
he  wanted :  but  he  could  not.  So  then  he  spoke  to  Alfred,  and 
says  he,  '  Could  you  take  charge  of  my  rooms  and  keep  them  in 
nice  order,  light  fires  from  time  to  time,  and  get  them  ready  for 
me  when  I  wish  to  occupy  them  ?  I  shall  not  be  here  often/  says 
he,  '  and  would  always  write  you  a  line  before  coming,  to  give 
you  time  to  prepare  them.'  '  Yes,  commandant,  I  can,'  answers 
my  flatterer  of  an  Alfred.  '  And  what  shall  you  charge?' 
*  Twenty  francs  a  month,  commandant,'  '  Twenty  francs ! ' 
exclaimed  the  commandant.  '  Why,  porter,  you  are  jesting, 
surely ! '  And  hereupon  he  began  bating  Alfred  down  in  the 
most  shabby  manner,  trying  to  squeeze  poor  people  like  us  out  of 
two  or  three  miserable  francs,  when  he  had  been  squandering 
thousands  in  fitting  up  his  grand  apartments,  which,  after  all, 
he  did  not  mean  to  live  in!  However,  after  a  deal  of  battling, 
we  got  twelve  francs  a  month  out  of  him — a  paltry,  pitiful,  two- 
farthing  captain!  What  a  difference,  now,  between  you  and 
him !  "  added  the  porteress,  addressing  Rodolph  with  an  admir- 
ing glance.  "  You  don't  call  yourself  fine  names  and  titles — 
you  only  look  like  a  plain  body — you  must  be  poor,  or  you  would 
not  perch  yourself  on  the  fourth  floor;  and  yet  you  agreed  with 
me  for  six  francs,  without  attempting  to  bate  me  down ! " 

"  And  when  did  the  commandant  pay  you  his  next  visit  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you, — and  good  fun  it  is,  too.  My  gentleman  must 
have  been  nicely  choused  by  somebody.  Three  times  did  he 
write  (same  as  to-day),  ordering  us  to  light  a  fire  and  have 
everything  ready  for  the  reception  of  a  lady  he  expected  would 
come. — Come !  yes,  I  dare  say  he  may  expect  a  long  time  first,  I 
rather  think." 

"  Nobody  came  then  ?  " 

"Listen.  The  first  time  the  commandant  arrived,  strutting 
and  swelling  like  a  turkey-cock,  humming  and  singing,  after  his 
manner,  all  the  gay  tunes  of  the  day,  walking  up  and  down  his 
fine  room  with  his  hands  stuck  in  his  pockets,  and  occasionally 


A  HO  USE  IN  THE  RUE  DU  TEMPLE.  185 

stopping  to  arrange  his  hair  before  the  glass, — we  were  watching 
him  all  the  time.  Well,  this  went  on  for  two  or  three  hours, 
when,  I  suppose,  he  knew  it  was  no  use  waiting  any  longer;  so 
he  came  down-stairs  very  softly,  and  with  quite  a  different  man- 
ner to  the  pride  and  consequence  he  had  marched  up  with.  By 
way  of  teasing  him,  Pipelet  and  I  went  out  to  him  and  said, 
'  Commandant,  there  has  been  no  lady  whatever  to  inquire  for 
you/  '  Very  well !  very  well ! '  exclaimed  he,  half  mad  and  half 
ashamed  of  being  laughed  at,  and,  buttoning  up  his  coat,  he 
walked  off  as  fast  as  he  could.  The  next  time,  before  he  came 
himself,  a  small  note  was  brought  here  by  a  man  directed  to  M. 
Charles;  I  strongly  suspected  he  was  done  again,  and  Pipelet 
and  me  were  enjoying  a  hearty  good  laugh  over  it  when  the  com- 
mandant arrived,  '  Captain,'  says  I,  putting  the  back  of  my  hand 
up  to  my  wig,  by  way  of  military  salute,  *  here  is  a  letter  for  you, 
but  I  am  afraid  it  contains  news  of  a  second  countermarch 
against  you/  He  looked  at  me  sour  as  a  crab,  snatched  the  letter 
from  my  hand,  read  it,  turned  scarlet  as  a  boiled  lobster,  then 
walked  off  pretending  to  whistle ;  but  he  was  finely  vexed — ready 
to  hang  himself,  I  could  see  he  was — and  it  was  rare  nuts  to  me. 
'  Go,  and  swallow  that  pill,  my  two-farthing  captain,'  says  I  to 
myself;  'that  serves  you  right  for  only  giving  twelve  francs 
a-month  for  minding  your  apartments/ 

"And  the  third  time?" 

"  Ah !  the  third  time  I  really  thought  it  was  all  right.  The 
commandant  arrived  more  stuck  up  with  pride  than  ever;  his 
eyes  staring  with  self-satisfied  admiration  at  himself  and  the 
certainty  of  not  being  disappointed  this  time.  Let  me  tell  the 
truth  about  him;  he  really  is  a  good-looking  man  and  dresses 
well,  though  he  stinks  of  musk  like  a  civet  cat.  Well,  there  was 
my  gentleman  arrayed  in  all  his  finery,  and  scarcely  condescend- 
ing to  look  at  us  poor  folks ;  he  seemed  as  though  he  conferred  a 
favor  on  the  earth  by  deigning  to  walk  on  it,  and  went,  sticking 
his  nose  into  the  air,  as  if  he  meant  to  touch  the  clouds  with  it. 
He  took  the  key,  and  said  to  us  as  he  passed  up-stairs,  in  a  jeer- 
ing, self-complacent  tone,  as  though  to  revenge  himself  for 
having  been  laughed  at  twice  before,  '  You  will  direct  the  lady  to 
my  apartments  when  she  comes/  Well,  Pipelet  and  I  were  so 
anxious  to  see  the  lady  he  expected,  though  we  did  not  much 
reckon  upon  her  keeping  her  appointment  even  if  she  ever  made 
one,  that  we  went  and  hid  ourselves  behind  the  little  door  that 
belongs  to  the  alley ;  and,  behold !  in  a  short  .time  a  blue  hackney- 
coach,  with  its  blinds  drawn  down,  stopped  at  the  entrance  to 
the  house.  '  There  she  is ! '  says  I  to  Alfred.  '  There  is  his 


186  THE  MT8TERIE8  OF  PARIS. 

madam;  let's  keep  back  a  bit  for  fear  we  frighten  her  away/ 
The  coachman  got  off  his  box  and  opened  the  door.  Then  we 
saw  a  female  closely  covered  with  a  black  veil  and  carrying  a 
muff;  she  had  apparently  been  crying,  for  she  kept  her  handker- 
chief to  her  face;  for  when  the  steps  were  let  down,  instead  of 
alighting  she  said  some  few  words  to  the  driver,  who,  much 
surprised,  shut  the  door  up  again." 

"  Then  the  lady  did  not  get  out?  " 

"  No !  she  threw  herself  back  in  the  coach  and  pressed  her 
handkerchief  tightly  to  her  eyes.  I  rushed  out,  and  before  the 
coachman  had  time  to  get  on  his  seat  again  I  called  out, 
'  Halloo !  there,  coachy  !  are  you  going  back  again  ?  '  '  Yes/  says 
he.  '  Where  ?  '  says  I.  *  Where  I  came  from,'  answers  he.  '  And 
where  did  you  come  from  ? '  asks  I  again.  '  From  the  Eue  Saint 
Dominique,  corner  of  the  Eue  Belle  Chasse.'  " 

Kodolph  started  at  these  words.  His  dearest  friend,  the  Mar- 
quis d'Harville,  who,  as  elsewhere  stated,  had  been  for  some  time 
laboring  under  a  deep  melancholy  none  could  penetrate,  lived 
in  the  very  place  just  mentioned  by  Madame  Pipelet.  Could 
this  mysterious  female  in  the  blue  fiacre  be  the  Marquise  d'Har- 
ville ?  and  was  it  from  the  lightness  and  frivolity  of  her  conduct 
that  the  mind  of  her  excellent  husband  was  bowed  down  by  doubts 
and  misgivings?  These  painful  suggestions  crowded  on  Ro- 
dolph's  mind,  but,  although  well  acquainted  with  all  the  various 
guests  received  by  the  marquise,  he  could  recollect  no  one  answer- 
ing the  description  of  the  commandant;  added  to  which,  any 
female  might  have  taken  a  hackney-coach  from  that  spot  without 
necessarily  living  in  the  street.  There  was  really  nothing  to 
identify  the  unknown  of  the  blue  fiacre  with  Madame  d'Harville, 
and  yet  a  thousand  vague  fears  and  painful  suspicions  crossed 
his  mind :  his  uneasy  manner  and  deep  abstraction  did  not  escape 
the  porteress. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  sir  ?  "  asked  she  at  length. 

"I  was  wondering  what  could  have  induced  the  lady,  after 
coming  to  the  very  door,  to  change  her  mind  so  suddenly." 

"  There  is  no  saying :  some  sudden  thought — dread  or  fear — 
for  we  poor  women  are  but  weak,  cowardly  things,"  said  the 
porteress,  assuming  a  timid,  frightened  manner.  "  Well,  I  think 
if  it  had  been  myself  now  coming  secretly  to  visit  Alfred,  I 
should  have  had  to  try  back  a  great  many  times  before  I  could 
have  screwed  up  my  courage  to  venture  in.  But,  then,  as  for 
visiting  your  great  dons  in  this  kind  of  way,  I  never  could  have 
done  such  a  thing.  No,  never !  I  am  sure  there  is  nobody  under 
the  face  of  heaven  can  say  I  ever  give  them  the  least  freedom, — 


A  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  DU  TEMPLE.  187 

1  should  think  not,  indeed,  while  my  poor  dear  old  darling  of  a 
husband  is  left." 

"  No  doubt, — no  doubt,  Madame  Pipelet ;  but  about  the  young 
person  you  were  describing  in  the  blue  fiacre  ?  " 

"Oh!  mind  I  don't  know  whether  she  was  young  or  old,  I 
could  not  even  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  tip  of  her  nose ;  all  I  can 
say  is  she  went  as  she  came,  and  that  is  all  about  it.  As  for 
Alfred  and  me,  we  were  better  pleased  than  if  we  had  found  ten 
francs/' 

"Why  so?" 

"  By  enjoying  the  rage  and  confusion  of  the  commandant 
when  he  found  himself  a  third  time  disappointed;  but,  instead 
of  going  and  telling  him  at  once  that  his  *  madam  '  had  been  and 
gone,  we  allowed  him  to  fume  and  fret  for  a  whole  hour.  Then 
I  went  softly  up-stairs  with  only  my  list  slippers  on.  I  reached 
his  door,  which  I  found  half  shut;  as  I  pushed  against  it,  it 
creaked;  the  staircase  is  black  as  night,  and  the  entrance  to  the 
apartment  quite  as  obscure.  Scarcely  had  I  crept  into  the  room 
when  the  commandant  caught  me  in  his  arms,  saying  in  a 
languishing  voice, '  My  dearest  angel !  what  makes  you  so  late  ?  '  '• 

Spite  of  the  serious  nature  of  the  thoughts  crowding  upon  his 
mind,  Rodolph  could  not  restrain  a  smile  as  he  surveyed  the 
grotesque  periwig  and  hideously  wrinkled,  carbuncled  visage,  of 
the  heroine  of  this  comic  scene. 

Madame  Pipelet,  however,  resumed  her  narration  with  a 
mirthful  chuckle  that  increased  her  ugliness: 

"  That  was  a  go !  wasn't  it  ?— but  stop  a  bit.  Well,  I  did  not 
make  the  least  reply,  but,  almost  keeping  in  my  breath,  I  waited 
to  see  what  would  be  the  end  of  this  strange  reception.  For  a 
minute  or  two  the  commandant  kept  hugging  me  up,  then,  all 
of  a  sudden,  the  brute  pushed  me  away,  exclaiming  with  as  much 
disgust  as  though  he  had  touched  a  toad,  'Who  the  devil  are 
you  ?  '  '  Me,  commandant — the  porteress — Madame  Pipelet ; 
and,  as  such,  I  will  thank  you  to  keep  your  hands  off  my  waist, 
and  not  to  call  me  your  angel  and  scold  me  for  being  late.  Sup- 
pose Alfred  had  heard  you,  a  pretty  business  we  should  have 
made  of  it!'  'What  the  deuce  brings  you  here?7  cried  he. 
'  Merely  to  let  you  know  the  lady  in  the  hackney-coach  has  just 
arrived.  '  Well,  then,  you  stupid  old  fool !  show  her  up  directly. 
Did  I  not  te*ll  you  to  do  so  ? '  '  Yes,  commandant ;  you  said  I 
was  to  show  her  up/  '  Then  why  do  you  not  obey  me  ?  '  '  Be- 
cause the  lady '  '  Speak  out,  woman  !  if  you  can/  '  The 

lady  has  gone  again/  '  Something  you  have  said  or  done,  then, 
to  offend  her,  I  am  sure ! '  roared  he  in  a  perfect  fury.  '  Not  at 


188  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

all,  commandant.  The  lady  did  not  alight,  but  when  the  coach 
stopped  and  the  driver  opened  the  door,  she  desired  him  to  take 
her  back  to  where  she  came  from.'  '  The  vehicle  cannot  have  got 
far  by  this  time/  exclaimed  the  commandant,  hastening  towards 
the  door.  '  It  has  been  gone  upwards  of  an  hour,'  answered  I, 
enjoying  his  fury  and  disappointment.  '  An  hour !  an  hour !  and 
what,  in  the  devil's  name,  hindered  you  from  letting  me  know 
this  sooner  ?  '  '  Because,  commandant,  Alfred  and  I  thought  we 
would  spare  you  as  long  as  we  could  the  tidings  of  this  third 
break-down,  which  we  fancied  might  be  too  much  for  you, — 
Come,  thinks  I,  there  is  something  to  make  you  remember  fling- 
ing me  out  of  your  arms,  as  though  it  made  you  sick  to  touch 
me.  ( Begone ! '  bawled  out  the  commandant,  '  you  hideous  old 
hag!  you  can  neither  say  nor  do  the  thing  that  is  right.'  And 
with  this  he  pulled  off  his  dressing-gown  and  threw  his  beautiful 
Greek  cap,  made  of  velvet  embroidered  with  gold,  on  the  ground : 
it  was  a  real  shame,  for  the  cap  was  a  downright  beauty ;  and  as 
for  the  dressing-gown,  oh  my!  it  would  set  anybody  longing. 
Meanwhile  the  commandant  kept  pacing  the  room,  with  his  eyes 
glaring  like  a  wild  beast  and  glowing  like  two  glow-worms." 
"  But  were  you  not  afraid  of  losing  his  employ  ?  " 
"  He  knew  too  well  what  he  was  about  for  that ;  we  had  him 
in  a  fix,  we  knew  where  his  '  madam '  lived,  and  had  he  said  any- 
thing to  us,  we  should  have  threatened  to  expose  the  whole  affair. 
And  who  do  you  think  for  his  beggarly  twelve  francs  would  have 
undertaken  to  attend  to  his  rooms — a  stranger?  No!  that  we 
would  have  prevented;  we  would  soon  have  made  the  place  too 
hot  to  hold  any  person  he  might  appoint — poor,  shabby  fellow 
that  he- is !  What  do  you  think?  he  actually  had  the  meanness  to 
examine  his  wood  and  put  out  the  quantity  he  should  allow  to 
be  burnt  while  he  was  away.  He  is  nothing  but  an  upstart,  I 
am  sure — a  nobody,  who  has  suddenly  tumbled  into  money  he 
does,  not  know  how  to  spend  properly — a  rich  man's  head  and  a 
beggar's  body,  who  squanders  with  one  hand  and  nips  and 
pinches  with  the  other.  I  do  not  wish  him  any  harm,  but  it 
amuses  me  immensely  to  think  how  he  has  been  befooled ;  and  he 
will  still  go  on  believing  and  expecting  from  day  to  day,  because 
he  is  too  vain  to  imagine  he  is  being  laughed  at.  At  any  rate, 
if  the  lady  ever  comes  in  reality,  I  will  let  my  friend  the  oyster- 
woman  next  door  know;  she  enjoys  a  joke  as  well  as  I  do,  and 
is  quite  as  curious  as  myself  to  find  out  what  sort  of  person  she 
is,  whether  fair  or  dark,  pretty  or  plain.  And — who  knows? — 
this  woman  may  be  cheating  some  easy-going  simpleton  of  a 
husband  for  the  sake  of  our  twopenny-halfpenny  of  a  command- 


A  SOUSE  IN  TEE  RUE  DU  TEMPLE.  189 

ant !  Well,  that  is  no  concern  of  mine,  but  I  am  sorry,  too,  for 

the  poor,  dear,  deceived  individual,  whoever  he  may  be. bear 

me!  dear  me!  my  pot  is  boiling  over — excuse  me  a  minute,  I 
must  just  look  to  it.  Ah !  it  is  time  Alfred  was  in,  for  dinner  is 
quite  ready,  and  tripe,  you  know,  should  never  be  kept  waiting. 
This  tripe  is  done  to  a  turn.  Do  you  prefer  the  thick  or  thin 
tripe?  Alfred  likes  it  thick.  The  poor  darling  has  been  sadly 
out  of  spirits  lately,  and  I  got  this  dainty  dish  to  cheer  him  up  a 
bit;  for,  as  Alfred  says  himself,  that  for  a  bribe  of  good  thick 
tripe  he  would  betray  France  itself — his  beloved  France.  Yes, 
the  dear  old  pet  would  change  his  country  for  such  fine  fat  tripe 
as  this,  he  would." 

While  Madame  Pipelet  was  thus  delivering  her  domestic 
harangue  upon  the  virtues  of  tripe  and  the  powerful  influence  it 
possessed  over  even  the  patriotism  of  her  husband,  Rodolph  was 
buried  in  the  deepest  and  most  somber  reflections.  The  female, 
whose  visit  to  the  house  had  just  been  detailed,  be  she  the  Mar- 
quise d'Harville  or  any  other  individual,  had  evidently  long 
struggled  with  her  imprudence  ere  she  had  brought  herself  to 
grant  a  first  and  second  rendezvous,  and  then,  terrified  at  the 
probable  consequences  of  her  imprudence,  a  salutary  remorse 
had,  in  all  probability,  prevented  her  from  fulfilling  her  danger- 
ous engagement.  It  might  be  that  the  fine  person  this  M. 
Charles  was  described  as  possessing  had  captivated  the  senses  of 
Madame  d'Harville,  whom  Eodolph  knew  well  as  a  woman  of 
deep  feeling,  high  intellect,  and  superior  taste,  of  an  elevated 
turn  of  mind,  and  a  reputation  unsullied  by  the  faintest  breath 
of  slander.  After  long  and  mature  consideration,  he  succeeded 
in  persuading  himself  that  the  wife  of  his  friend  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  unknown  female  in  the  blue  fiacre.  Madame  Pipelet, 
having  completed  her  culinary  arrangements,  resumed  her  con- 
versation with  Rodolph. 

"And  who  lives  on  the  second  floor?"  inquired  he  of  the 
porteress. 

"Why,  Mother  Burette  does, — a  most  wonderful  woman  at 
fortune-telling ;  bless  you !  she  can  read  in  your  hand  the  same 
a?  a  book,  and  many  quite  first-rate  people  come  to  her  to  have 
the  cards  consulted  when  they  are  anxious  about  any  particular 
matter.  She  earns  her  weight  in  gold,  and  that  is  not  a  trifle, 
for  she  is  a  rare  bundle  of  an  old  body.  However,  telling  for- 
tunes is  only  one  of  her  means  of  gaining  a  livelihood." 

"  Why,  what  does  she  do  besides  ?  " 

"  She  keeps  what  you  would  call  a  pawnbroker's  shop  upon  a 
small  scale." 


190  TEE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  I  see ;  your  second-floor  lodger  lends  out  again  the  money 
she  derives  from  her  skill  in  foretelling  events  by  reading  the 
cards." 

"  Exactly  so ;  only  she  is  cheaper  and  more  easy  to  deal  with 
than  the  regular  pawnbrokers:  she  does  not  confuse  you  with  a 
heap  of  paper  tickets  and  duplicates — nothing  of  the  sort.  Now 
suppose: — Some  one  brings  Mother  Burette  a  shirt  worth  three 
francs;  well,  she  lends  ten  sous  upon  condition  of  being  paid 
twenty  at  the  end  of  the  week,  otherwise  she  keeps  the  shirt  for- 
ever: that  is  simple  enough,  is  it  not?  always  in  round  figures, 
you  see, — a  child  could  understand  it.  And  the  odd  things  she 
has  brought  her  as  pledges  you  would  scarcely  believe.  You  can 
hardly  guess  what  she  sometimes  is  asked  to  lend  upon:  I  saw 
her  once  advance  money  upon  a  gray  parrot  that  swore  like  a 
trooper — the  blackguard  did." 

"  A  parrot  ?  but  to  what  amount  did  she  advance  money  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you :  the  parrot  was  well  known,  it  belonged  to  a 
Madame  Herbelot,  the  widow  of  a  factor,  living  close  by ;  and  it 
was  also  well  understood  that  Madame  Herbelot  valued  her  par- 
rot as  much  as  she  did  her  life.  Well,  Mother  Burette  said  to  her, 
'  I  will  lend  you  ten  francs  on  your  bird,  but  if  by  this  day  week 
at  twelve  o'clock  I  do  not  receive  twenty  francs  with  interest  (it 
would  amount  to  that  in  round  numbers)  ;  if  I  am  not  paid  my 
twenty  francs,  with  the  expenses  of  his  keep,  I  shall  give  your 
Polly  a  trifling  dose  of  arsenic  mixed  with  his  food.  She  knew 
her  customer  well,  bless  you!  However,  by  this  threat  Mother 
Burette  received  her  twenty  francs  at  the  end  of  seven  days, 
and  Madame  Herbelot  got  back  her  disagreeable  screaming 
parrot." 

"  Mother  Burette  has  no  other  way  of  living  besides  the  two 
you  have  named,  I  suppose?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of.  I  don't  know,  however,  what  to  say  of 
some  rather  sly  and  secret  transactions,  carried  on  in  a  small 
room  she  never  allows  anyone  to  enter,  except  M.  Bras  Eouge 
and  an  old  one-eyed  woman,  called  La  Chouette." 

Rodolph  opened  his  eyes  with  unmixed  astonishment  as  these 
names  sounded  on  his  ear,  and  the  porteress,  interpreting  the 
surprise  of  her  future  lodger  according  to  her  own  notions,  said, 

"  That  name  would  make  anyone  stare  with  astonishment. 
Certainly,  La  Chouette  is  uncommonly  odd :  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  It  is,  indeed.  Does  the  woman  who  is  so  styled  come  here 
frequently?" 

"  We  saw  her  the  day  before  yesterday,  for  the  first  time  these 
six  weeks.  She  was  rather  lame,  I  observed." 


A  HOUSE  IN  THE  RUE  DU  TEMPLE.  191 

"  And  what  do  you  suppose  she  wants  with  the  fortune-telling 
woman  ?  " 

"  That  I  do  not  know ;  at  least,  as  to  what  takes  place  in  the 
little  room  I  was  telling  you  of,  where  La  Chouette  alone  is 
admitted  with  M.  Bras  Rouge  and  Mother  Burette.  I  have, 
however,  particularly  observed,  that  on  those  occasions  the  one- 
eyed  woman  always  has  a  large  bundle  with  her  in  her  basket, 
and  that  M.  Bras  Rouge  also  carries  a  parcel  of  some  size  beneath 
his  cloak,  and  that  they  always  return  empty-handed." 

"  And  what  can  these  packets  contain  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  above  knows,  for  I  don't ;  only  they  kick  up  the 
devil's  own  row  with  them,  whatever  they  are.  And  then  such 
whiffs  of  sulphur,  charcoal,  and  melted  lead,  as  you  go  up  the 
stairs;  and  blow,  blow,  blow,  like  a  smith's  forge.  I  verily 
believe  Mother  Burette  has  dealings  with  the  old  one,  and  prac- 
tices magic  in  this  private  apartment;  leastways,  that  is  what 
M.  Cesar  Bradamanti,  our  third-floor  lodger,  said  to  me.  A 
very  clever  individual  is  M.  Cesar.  When  I  say  an  '  individual/ 
I  mean  an  Italian,  though  he  speaks  as  good  French  as  you  or 
me,  excepting  his  accent,  and  that  is  nothing.  Oh,  he  is  very 
clever,  indeed !  knows  all  about  physic ;  and  pulls  out  teeth,  not 
for  the  sake  of  the  money  but  the  honor  of  his  profession — yes, 
really,  sir,  for  downright  honor.  Now,  suppose  you  had  six  de- 
cayed teeth — and  he  says  the  same  thing  to  all  who  choose  to 
listen  to  him — well,  then  he  will  take  out  five  for  nothing,  and 
only  charge  you  for  the  sixth.  Besides  which,  he  sells  all  manner 
of  remedies  for  all  sorts  of  complaints — diseases  of  the  lungs, 
coughs,  colds,  every  complaint  you  can  name :  but  then  he  makes 
his  own  drugs,  and  he  has  for  his  assistant  the  son  of  onr  princi- 
pal lessee,  little  Tortillard.  He  says  that  his  master  is  going  to 
buy  himself  a  horse  and  a  red  coat,  and  to  sell  his  drugs  in  the 
market-places,  and  that  young  Tortillard  is  to  be  dressed  like  a 
page  and  be  at  the  drum,  to  attract  customers." 

"  This  seems  to  me  a  very  humble  occupation  for  the  son  of 
your  principal  lessee." 

"  Why,  his  father  says  unless  he  gets  a  pretty  strong  hand  over 
him,  and  a  tolerably  powerful  taste  of  whip-cord,  in  the  way  of  a 
sound  thrashing,  every  now  and  then,  he  is  safe  to  come  to  the 
scaffold.  And  he  is  about  the  ugliest,  most  spiteful,  ill-disposed 
young  rascal,  one  would  wish  to  meet :  he  has  played  more  than 
one  abominable  trick  upon  poor  M.  Cesar  Bradamanti,  who  is  the 
best  creature  possible ;  for  he  cured  Alfred  of  a  rheumatic  attack, 
and  I  promise  you  we  have  not  forgotten  it.  Yet  there  are  some 
people  wicked  enough  to But,  no  I  will  not  tell  you:  it 


192  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

would  make  the  hair  of  your  head  stand  on  end.    As  Alfred  says, 
if  it  were  true  it  would  send  him  to  the  galleys." 

"  Why,  what  do  they  accuse  him  of  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  really  cannot  tell  you !     I  can't,  indeed ;  for  it  is 

"  Then  we  will  drop  the  subject." 

"  And  to  say  such  things  of  a  young  man !  Upon  my  life  and 
soul,  it  is  too  bad." 

"  Pray,  Madame  Pipelet,  do  not  give  yourself  the  trouble  of 
saying  any  more  about  it :  let  us  speak  of  other  matters." 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  but,  as  you  are  to  live  in  the  house,  it  is 
only  fair  and  right  to  prepare  you  for  any  falsehoods  you  may 
hear.  I  suppose  you  are  sufficiently 'well  off  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  M.  Cesar  Bradamanti,  and  unless  you  are  put  on 
your  guard  against  these  reports,  they  might  lead  to  your  break- 
ing off  with  him.  So,  just  put  your  ear  down  and  I'll  whisper 
what  it  is  people  say  about  him." 

And  the  old  woman,  in  a  low  tone,  muttered  a  few  words  as 
Eodolph  inclined  his  head:  he  started  from  her,  with  mingled 
disgust  and  horror. 

"  Impossible !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  Surely  human  nature  is  not 
capable  of  such  crimes !  " 

"  Shocking !  is  it  not  ?  But  treat  it  as  I  do — all  scandal  and 
lies.  What,  do  you  think  the  man  who  cured  Alfred's  rheuma- 
tism— who  draws  five  teeth  out  of  six  for  nothing — who  has 
testimonies  (testimonials)  from  every  prince  and  king  in  the 
world — and,  above  all,  pays  as  he  goes,  down  on  the  nail,  would 
go  for  to  do  such  things?  Not  he!  I'll  stake  my  blessed  life 
upon  it." 

While  Madame  Pipelet  thus  vented  her  indignant  opinion 
concerning  the  reports  in  circulation,  Eodolph  recalled  to  his 
memory  the  letter  he  had  seen  addressed  to  the  quack-dentist; 
he  remembered  the  counterfeited  writing  and  the  coarse,  common 
paper,  stained  with  tears,  which  had  well-nigh  obliterated  part 
of  the  address — too  well  did  he  see  in  the  mysterious  grief- 
stained  epistle  the  opening  of  a  drama  of  deep  and  fearful  im- 
port; and  while  these  sad  presages  filled  his  mind,  a  powerful 
impression  whispered  within  him  that  the  dreadful  doings 
ascribed  to  the  Italian  were  not  altogether  unfounded. 

"  Oh !  I  declare,  here  comes  Alfred  !  "  exclaimed  the  porteress. 
"  Now  he  will  tell  you  his  opinion  of  all  these  spiteful  stories 
about  poor  M.  Bradamanti.  Bless  you !  Alfred  thinks  him  as 
innocent  as  a  lamb,  ever  since  he  cured  his  rheumatics." 

M.  Pipelet  entered  the  lodge  with  a  grave,  magisterial  air. 


A  HOUSE  IN  THE  HUE  DU  TEMPLE.  193 

He  was  about  sixty  years  of  age,  comfortably  fat,  with  a  large, 
broad  countenance,  strongly  resembling  in  its  cast  and  style  the 
faces  carved  upon  the  far-famed  nutcrackers  of  Nuremberg;  a 
nose,  of  more  than  ordinary  proportions,  helping  to  complete  the 
likeness.  An  old  and  dingy-looking  hat,  with  a  very  deep  brim, 
surmounted  the  whole.  Alfred,  who  adhered  to  this  upper  orna- 
ment as  tenaciously  as  his  wife  did  to  her  Brutus  wig,  was 
further  attired  in  an  ancient  green  coat,  with  immense  flaps 
turned  up  with  grease — if  so  might  be  described  the  bright  and 
shiny  patches  of  long-accumulated  dirt,  which  had  given  an 
entirely  different  hue  to  some  portions  of  the  garment.  But, 
though  clad  in  a  hat  and  coat  esteemed  by  Pipelet  and  his  wife 
as  closely  resembling  full-dress,  Alfred  had  not  laid  aside  the 
modest  emblem  of  his  trade,  but  from  his  waist  uprose  the  buff- 
colored  triangular  front  of  his  leather  apron,  partly  concealing  a 
waistcoat  boasting  nearly  as  great  a  variety  of  colors  as  did  the 
patchwork  counterpane  of  Madame  Pipelet. 

The  porter's  recognition  of  Rodolph  as  he  entered  was  gracious 
in  the  extreme ;  but,  alas !  he  smiled  a  melancholy  welcome,  and 
his  countenance  and  languid  air  marked  a  man  of  secret  sorrow. 

"  Alfred,'*  said  Madame  Pipelet,  when  she  had  introduced  her 
two  companions,  "here  is  a  gentleman  after  the  apartment  on 
the  fourth  floor,  and  we  have  only  been  waiting  for  you  to  drink 
a  glass  of  cordial  he  sent  for." 

This  delicate  attention  won  for  Rodolph  the  entire  trust  and 
confidence  of  the  melancholy  porter,  who,  touching  the  brim  of 
his  hat,  said,  in  a  deep  bass  voice  worthy  of  being  employed  in  a 
cathedral, 

"  We  shall  give  the  gentleman  every  satisfaction  as  porters, 
and,  doubtless,  he  will  act  the  same  by  us  as  a  lodger:  'birds  of 
a  feather  flock  together/  as  the  proverb  says."  Then,  interrupt- 
ing himself,  M.  Pipelet  anxiously  added:  "Providing,  sir,  you 
are  not  a  painter !  " 

"  Xo,  I  am  no  painter,  but  a  plain  merchant's  clerk." 

"  My  most  humble  duty  to  you,  sir.  I  congratulate  you  that 
Xature  did  not  make  you  one  of  those  monsters  called  artists." 

"  Artists,  monsters !  "  returned  Rodolph.  "  Tell  me,  pray, 
why  you  style  them  so." 

Instead  of  replying,  M.  Pipelet  elevated  his  clasped  hands 
towards  the  ceiling,  and  allowed  a  heavy  sound,  between  a  grunt 
and  a  groan,  to  escape  his  overcharged  breast. 

"  You  must  know,  sir,"  said  Madame  Pipelet,  in  a  low  tone,  to 
Rodolph,  rt  that  painters  have  embittered  Alfred's  life :  they  have 
worried  my  poor  old  dear  almost  out  of  his  senses,  and  made  him 


194  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

half-stupefied,  as  you  see  him  now."  Then  speaking  loud,  she 
added,  in  a  caressing  tone,  "  Oh,  never  mind  the  blackguard, 
there's  a  dear !  but  try  and  forget  all  about  it,  or  you  will  be  ill, 
and  unable  to  eat  the  nice  tripe  I  have  got  for  your  dinner." 

"  Let  us  hope  I  shall  have  courage  and  firmness  enough  for  all 
things,"  replied  M.  Pipelet,  with  a  dignified  and  resigned  air: 
"  but  he  has  done  me  much  harm ;  he  has  been  my  persecutor, 
almost  my  executioner, — long  have  I  suffered,  but  now  I  despise 
him ! — Ah !  "  said  he,  turning  to  Kodolph,  "  never  allow  a  painter 
to  enter  your  doors,  they  are  the  plague — the  ruin — the  destruc- 
tion of  a  house !  " 

"  You  have,  then,  had  a  painter  lodging  with  you,  I  pre- 
sume ?  " 

"  Unhappily,  sir,  I  did  have  one,"  replied  M.  Pipelet,  with 
much  bitterness,  "  and  that  one  named  Cabrion. — Ah !  " 

At  the  recollections  brought  back  by  this  name,  the  porter's 
declaration  of  courage  and  endurance  utterly  failed  him,  and 
again  his  clenched  fists  were  raised,  as  though  to  invoke  the 
vengeance  he  had  so  lately  described  himself  as  despising. 

"  And  was  this  individual  the  last  occupant  of  the  chamber 
I  am  about  engaging  ?  "  inquired  Rodolph. 

"  No,  no !  the  last  lodger  was  an  excellent  young  man  named 
M.  Germain.  No,  this  Cabrion  had  the  room  before  he  came. 
Ah !  sir,  since  Cabrion  left,  he  has  all  but  driven  me  stark  staring 
mad ! " 

"  Did  you,  then,  so  much  regret  him  ?  "  asked  Rodolph. 

"  Regret  him ! — regret  Cabrion !  "  screamed  the  astounded 
porter :  "  why,  only  imagine,  M.  Bras  Rouge  paid  him  two  quar- 
ters' rent  to  induce  him  to  quit  the  place,  for,  unluckily,  he  had 
taken  his  apartments  for  a  term.  What  a  scamp  he  was !  You 
have  no  idea  of  the  horrible  tricks  he  played  off  upon  all  the 
lodgers  as  well  as  us.  Why,  just  to  give  you  one  little  proof  of 
his  villainy,  there  was  hardly  a  single  wind  instrument  he  did  not 
make  use  of  as  a  sort  of  annoyance  to  the  lodgers;  from  the 
French  horn  to  the  flageolet,  he  made  use  of  all,  and  even  carried 
his  rascality  so  far  as  to  play  false  and  to  keep  blowing  the  same 
note  for  hours  together :  it  was  enough  to  worry  one  out  of  one's 
senses.  Well,  I  suppose  there  were  upwards  of  twenty  different 
petitions  sent  to  our  chief  lessee,  M.  Bras  Rouge,  to  turn  the 
beggar  out ;  and,  at  last,  he  was  only  got  rid  of  by  paying  him 
two  quarters'  rent — rather  droll,  is  it  not,  for  a  landlord  to  pay 
his  lodger  ?  But,  bless  you !  the  house  was  so  upset  by  him  that 
he  might  have  had  any  price  so  he  would  but  take  himself  off: 
however,  he  did  go.  And  now  you  suppose  we  were  clear  of  M. 


A  HOUSE  IN  TIIE  RUE  DU  TEMPLE.  195 

Cabrion  ?  I'll  tell  you.  Next  night,  about  eleven  o'clock,  I  was 
in  bed,  when  rap,  rap,  rap,  comes  to  the  gate;  I  pulls  up  the 
string — somebody  walks  up  to  my  door,  '  How  do  you  do,  por- 
ter ?  says  a  voice ;  '  will  you  oblige  me  with  a  lock  of  your  hair  ?  ' 
'  Somebody  has  mistaken  the  door/  says  my  wife.  So  I  calls 
out  to  the  stranger,  '  You  are  wrong,  friend,  you  want  next  door.' 
'I  think  not,'  returns  the  voice;  'this  is  No.  17,  is  it  not?  and 
the  porter's  name  is  Pipelet? — I'm  all  right;  so  please  to  open 
the  door  and  oblige  me  with  a  lock  of  your  beautiful  hair/  '  My 
name  is  Pipelet,  certainly,'  answers  I.  'Well,  then,  friend 
Pipelet,  Cabrion  has  sent  me  for  a  piece  of  your  hair;  he  says 
he  must  and  he  will  have  it." 

As  Pipelet  uttered  the  last  words  he  gave  his  head  a  mournful 
shake,  and,  folding  his  arms,  assumed  an  attitude  of  martyrlike 
resolution. 

"  Do  you  perceive,  sir  ?  he  sends  to  me,  his  mortal  enemy, 
whom  he  overwhelmed  with  insults  and  continually  outraged  in 
every  way,  to  beg  a  lock  of  my  hair, — a  favor  which  even  ladies 
have  been  known  to  refuse  to  a  lover ! " 

"  But,  supposing  this  Cabrion  had  been  as  good  a  lodger  as 
was  M.  Germain,"  replied  Eodolph,  with  some  difficulty  pre- 
serving the  gravity  of  countenance,  "  do  you  think  you  might 
have  accorded  him  the  favor  ?  " 

"  Not  to  the  best  lodger  that  treads  shoe-leather  would  I  grant 
a  similar  request,"  replied  the  man  in  the  flapped  hat,  waving  it 
majestically  over  his  brows  as  he  spoke ;  "  it  is  contrary  to  my 
principles  and  habit  to  give  my  hair  to  anyone, — only  I  should 
have  refused  with  the  most  scrupulous  regard  to  politeness." 

"  That  is  not  all,"  chimed  in  the  porteress.  "  Only  conceive, 
sir,  the  abominable  conduct  of 'that  Cabrion,  who,  from  morning 
to  night,  at  all  hours  and  at  all  times,  sends  a  swarm  of  vaga- 
bonds like  himself  to  ask  Alfred  for  a  lock  of  his  hair — always 
for  Cabrion ! " 

"  Ah !  monsieur,"  sighed  out  poor  Pipelet,  "  had  I  committed 
the  most  atrocious  crimes,  my  sleep  could  not  have  been  rendered 
more  broken  and  unref reshing ;  scarcely  do  I  fall  into  a  doze 
than  I  wake  starting  with  the  idea  of  being  called  by  that 
cursed  Cabrion!  I  suspect  everybody, — in  each  person  who 
approaches  me  I  see  an  emissary  from  my  persecutor  come  to 
request  a  lock  of  my  hair.  I  am  losing  my  good  spirits,  my  tem- 
per, and  becoming  gloomy,  suspicious,  peevish,  and  ill-natured. 
This  infernal  Cabrion  has  murdered  my  whole  life ! " 

And  Pipelet  heaved  so  profound  a  sigh,  that  his  hat,  vibrating 
for  some  time  from  the  consequences  of  the  convulsive  shake 


196  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

of  the  head  occasioned  thereby,  fell  forward  and  completely 
veiled  his  care-stricken  features. 

"  I  can  well  understand,  now,"  said  Rodolph,  "  that  you  are 
not  particularly  partial  to  painters;  but  I  suppose  the  M.  Ger- 
main you  were  praising  so  highly  made  up  for  the  bad  treatment 
you  received  from  M.  Cabrion  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  sir ;  as  I  told  you,  M.  Germain  was  a  delightful 
young  man,  so  honorable  and  kind-hearted,  open  as  the  day,  and 
ever  ready  to  serve  and  oblige;  he  was  cheerful  and  merry  as 
need  be,  but  then  he  always  kept  his  high  spirits  within  proper 
bounds  instead  of  worrying  people  to  death  by  his  unmeaning 
hoaxes,  like  that  Cabrion,  who  I  wish  was  at  the  devil ! " 

"  Come,  come,  my  good  Monsieur  Pipelet,  I  must  not  let  you 
thus  excite  yourself;  and  who,  now,  is  the  person  fortunate 
enough  to  possess  such  a  pattern  of  a  lodger  as  this  M.  Germain 
seems  to  have  been  ?  " 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you ;  no  one  knows  whither 
he  has  gone,  nor  are  they  likely,  except,  indeed,  through  Made- 
moiselle Rigolette." 

"  And  who  is  Mademoiselle  Rigolette  ?  "  demanded  Rodolph. 

"  Why,  she  is  a  needlewoman,  also  living  on  the  fourth  floor," 
cried  Madame  Pipelet;  "another  pattern  lodger,  always  pays 
her  rent  in  advance,  and  keeps  her  little  chamber  so  nice  and 
clean ;  then  she  is  well  behaved  to  everyone,  so  merry  and  happy, 
like  a  bird,  though,  poor  thing !  very  like  a  caged  bird,  obliged  to 
work  early  and  late  to  earn  two  francs  a  day,  and  often  not  half 
that  let  her  try  ever  so  hard." 

"  How  does  it  happen  that  Mademoiselle  Rigolette  should  be 
the  only  person  intrusted  with  the  secret  of  M.  Germain's  pres- 
ent abode  ?  " 

"  Why,  when  he  was  going  away,  he  came  to  us  and  said,"  re- 
turned Madame  Pipelet,  "  *  I  do  not  expect  any  letters ;  but  if, 
by  chance,  any  should  come,  please  to  give  them  to  Mademoiselle 
Rigolette/  And  she  is  well  worthy  of  his  confidence,  if  his  letters 
were  filled  with  gold ;  don't  you  think  so,  Alfred  ?  " 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  the  porter,  in  a  severe  tone,  "  that  I  know 
no  harm  of  Mademoiselle  Rigolette,  excepting  her  permitting 
herself  to  be  wheedled  over  by  that  vile  scamp,  Cabrion." 

"  But  you  know,  Alfred,  that  nothing  more  than  a  few  harm- 
less attentions  passed  between  them,"  interrupted  the  porteress; 
"  for,  though  Mademoiselle  Rigolette  is  as  merry  as  a  kitten,  she 
is  as  prudent  and  correct  as  I  am  myself.  You  should  see  the 
strong  bolts  she  has  inside  her  door ;  and  if  her  next-door  neigh- 
bor will  make  love  to  her,  that  is  not  her  fault:  it  follows  as  a 


A  HOUSE  IN  TUB  RUE  DU  TEMPLE.  197 

matter  of  course  when  people  are  so  close  to  each  other.  It  was 
just  the  same  with  the  traveling-clerk  we  had  here  before 
Cabrion,  and  so  it  was  when  M.  Germain  took  the  room  this 
abominable  painter  occupied.  So,  as  I  say,  there  is  no  blame 
to  Mademoiselle  Rigolette;  it  arises  out  of  the  two  rooms  join- 
ing one  another  so  closely, — naturally  that  brings  about  a  little 
flirtation,  but  nothing  more." 

"  So,  then,  it  becomes  a  matter  of  course,  does  it,"  said  Ro- 
dolph,  "  that  every  one  who  occupies  the  apartment  I  am  to  have 
should  make  love  to  Mademoiselle  Rigolette?" 

"  Why,  of  course,  monsieur ;  how  can  you  be  good  neighbors 
without  it, — don't  you  see?  Now,  imagine  yourself  lodging  in 
the  very  next  room  to  a  nice,  pretty,  obliging  young  person,  like 
Mademoiselle  Rigolette;  well,  then,  young  people  will  be  young 
people, — sometimes  you  want  a  light,  sometimes  a  few  live  coals 
to  kindle  up  your  fire,  maybe  a  little  water, — for  one  is  sure  al- 
ways to  find  plenty  of  fresh  spring-water  at  Mademoiselle  Rig- 
olette's,  she  is  never  without  it,  it  is  her  only  luxury, — she  is 
like  a  little  duck,  always  dabbling  in  it ;  and  if  she  does  happen 
to  have  a  little  leisure,  such  a  washing  down  of  floors  and  clean- 
ing of  windows !  never  the  least  soil  or  neglect  about  either  her- 
self or  her  apartment,  and  so  you  will  find." 

"  And  so  M.  Germain,  by  reason  of  his  close  proximity  to 
Mademoiselle  Rigolette,  became  what  you  style  upon  perfectly 
neighborly  terms  with  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  yes !  why,  the  two  seemed  cut  out  for  each 
other,  so  young  and  so  good-looking !  It  was  quite  a  pleasure  to 
look  at  them  as  they  came  down-stairs  of  a  Sunday  to  take  the 
only  walk,  poor  things !  they  could  afford  themselves  throughout 
the  week ;  she  dressed  in  a  smart  little  cap  and  a  gown  that  cost, 
probably,  not  more  than  twenty-five  sous  the  ell,  but  made  by 
herself,  and  that  so  tastily  that  it  became  her  as  much  as  though 
it  had  been  of  satin;  he,  mind  ye,  dressed  and  looking  like  a 
regular  gentleman." 

"  And  M.  Germain  has  not  been  to  see  Mademoiselle  Rigolette, 
I  suppose,  since  he  quitted  the  house  ?  " 

"  No,  monsieur ;  unless  on  Sunday,  for  Mademoiselle  Rigolette 
has  no  time  during  the  other  six  days  of  the  week  to  think  of 
sweethearting.  Why,  the  poor  girl  rises  at  five  or  six  o'clock, 
and  works  incessantly  till  ten  or  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  never 
once  leaving  her  room  except  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  morning, 
when  she  goes  out  to  buy  food  for  herself  and  her  two  canary- 
birds  ;  and  the  three  eat  but  very  little,  just  a  penn'orth  of  milk, 
a  little  bread,  some  chickweed,' birdseed,  and  clear  fresh  water, 


198  TEE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

and  the  whole  three  of  them  sing  away  as  merrily  as  though  they 
fared  ever  so  sumptuously.  And  Ma'amselle  Rigolette  is  kind 
and  charitable,  too,  as  far  as  lays  in  her  power;  that  is  to  say, 
she  gives  her  time,  her  sleep,  and  her  services:  for,  poor  girl! 
she  can  scarcely  manage  to  keep  herself  by  working  closely  for 
twelve  hours  a  day.  Those  poor,  unfortunate  creatures  in  the 
attics,  whom  M.  Bras  Rouge  is  going  to  turn  into  the  strets  in 
two  or  three  days'  time,  if  even  he  wait  so  long, — why  Made- 
moiselle Eigolette  and  M.  Germain  sat  up  with  the  children 
night  after  night !  " 

"  You  have  a  distressed  family,  then,  here  ?  " 

"  Distressed !  oh,  God  bless  you,  my  good  sir,  I  think  we  have, 
indeed.  Why,  there  are  five  young  children,  an  almost  dying 
mother,  an  idiotic  grandmother,  and  their  only  support  a  man 
who,  though  he  slaves  like  a»  negro,  cannot  even  get  bread  enough 
to  eat — and  a  capital  workman  he  is,  too ;  three  hours'  sleep  out 
of  the  twenty-four  is  all  he  allows  himself, — and  what  sleep  it 
is !  broken  by  his  children  crying  for  food,  by  the  groans  of 
his  sick  wife  tossing  on  her  miserable  straw  bed,  or  the  idiotic 
screams  of  the  poor,  bed-ridden,  old  grandmother,  who  some- 
times howls  like  a  wolf — from  hunger,  too — for,  poor  creature ! 
she  has  not  sense  or  reason  to  know  better,  and  when  she  gets 
very  hungry  you  may  hear  cries  and  screams  all  down  the  stair- 
case." 

"Horrible!"  exclaimed  Rodolph,  with  a  shudder;  "and  does 
no  one  afford  them  any  assistance  ?  " 

"  Truly,  sir,  we  do  all  we  can ;  we  are  but  poor  ourselves ; 
however,  since  the  commandant  has  allowed  me  his  paltry  twelve 
francs  a  month  for  looking  after  his  apartments,  I  have  managed 
once  a  week  to  make  a  little  broth  for  these  poor  unfortunate 
creatures.  Mademoiselle  Rigolette  deprives  herself  of  her  night's 
rest,  and  sits  up,  poor  girl!  (though  it  burns  her  candles),  con- 
triving out  of  one  bit  and  the  other  of  her  cutting  out  to  make 
up  a  few  clothes  for  the  children;  sometimes  from  the  morsels 
left  of  her  work  she  manages  a  small  nightcap  or  gown ;  and  M. 
Germain,  who  had  not  a  franc  more  than  he  knew  what  to  do 
with,  used  to  pretend,  from  time  to  time,  that  he  had  received  a 
present  of  a  few  bottles  of  wine  from  his  friends;  and  Morel 
(that  is  the  name  of  the  workman  with  the  sick  family)  was 
sure  to  be  invited  to  share  it  with  him ;  and  it  was  really  wonder- 
ful to  see  how  refreshed  and  strengthened  poor  Morel  used  to 
seem  after  M.  Germain  had  made  him  take  a  good  pull  at  his 
wine,  to  put,  as  he  used  to  say,  a  little  life  and  soul  into  his 
half-exhausted  body." 


A  HO  USE  IN  THE  RUE  DU  TEMPLE.  199 

"And  the  surgeon-dentist,  what  did  he  do  for  this  wretched 
family?" 

"  M.  Bradamanti  ?  "  said  the  porter ;  "  ah !  he  cured  my  rheu- 
matism, and  I  owe  him  my  eternal  gratitude;  but  from  that 
very  day  I  said  to  my  wife,  '  Anastasia,  M.  Bradamanti/ — hum ! 
— hum! — did  I  not  say  so,  Anastasia?" 

"  Exactly ;  that  is  precisely  what  you  did  say." 

"  But  I  want  to  know  what  this  M.  Bradamanti  did  to  assist 
the  poor  starving  beings  in  your  garrets  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  monsieur,  when  I  mentioned  to  M.  Brada- 
manti the  misery  and  utter  destitution  of  poor  Morel, — by  the 
way,  he  first  began  the  conversation  by  complaining  that  the 
raving  and  screaming  of  the  old  idiot  woman  throughout  the 
night  for  food  prevented  him  from  sleeping,  and  that  he  found 
it  very  unpleasant;  however,  he  listened  to  my  description  of 
the  state  the  whole  family  was  in,  and  then  he  said,  '  Well,  if 
they  are  so  much  distressed,  you  may  tell  them  that  if  they 
want  any  teeth  drawn,  I  will  excuse  their  paying  even  for  the 
sixth.'" 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Madame  Pipelet,"  said  Eodolph,  "  I  have 
a  decidedly  bad  opinion  of  this  man.  Ajid  your  female  pawn- 
broker, was  she  more  charitable  ? " 

"  Very  much  after  the  fashion  of  M.  Bradamanti,"  said  the 
porteress ;  "  she  lent  a  few  sous  upon  their  wretched  clothes ; 
every  garment  they  had  has  passed  into  her  hands,  and  even 
their  last  mattress:  but  they  were  not  long  coming  to  the  last, 
for  they  never  had  but  two." 

"  But  she  gave  them  no  further  aid  ?  " 

"  Help  them,  poor  creatures !  not  she.  Mother  Burette  is  as 
great  a  brute  in  her  way  as  her  lover,  M.  Bras  Rouge,  is  in  his ; 
for  between  you  and  I,"  added  the  porteress,  with  an  uncom- 
monly knowing  wink  of  the  eye  and  sagacious  shake  of  the  head, 
"  there  is  something  rather  tender  going  on  between  these  two." 

"  Really !  "  cried  Rodolph. 

"  I  think  so — I  do  upon  my  life.  And  why  not  ?  why,  the 
folks  in  Saint  Martin  are  as  loving  as  the  rest  of  the  world; 
are  they  not,  my  old  pet  ?  " 

A  melancholy  shake  of  the  head,  which  produced  a  corre- 
sponding motion  in  the  huge  black  hat,  was  M.  Pipelet's  only  an- 
swer. As  for  Madame  Pipelet,  since  she  had  begun  expressing 
sympathy  for  the  poor  sufferers  in  the  attics,  her  countenance 
had  ceased  to  strike  Rodolph  as  repulsive,  and  he  even  thought 
it  wore  an  agreeable  expression. 

"And  what  is  this  poor  Morel's  trade?" 


200  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  A  maker  of  false  jewelry ;  he  works  by  the  piece :  but,  dear 
me !  that  sort  of  work  is  so  much  imitated  and  so  cheaply  got  up 

that For  a  man  can  but  work  his  best,  and  he  cannot  do 

more  than  he  can ;  besides,  when  you  have  got  to  find  bread  for 
seven  persons  without  reckoning  yourself,  it  is  rather  a  hard  job  I 
take  it.  And  though  his  eldest  daughter  does  her  best  to  assist 
the  family,  she  has  but  very  little  in  her  power." 

"How  old  is  this  daughter?" 

"  About  eighteen,  and  as  lovely  a  young  creature  as  you  would 
see  in  a  long  summer's  day.  She  lives  as  servant  with  an  old 
miserly  fellow,  rich  enough  to  buy  and  sell  half  Paris — a  notary, 
named  M.  Jacques  Ferrand." 

"  M.  Jacques  Ferrand !  "  exclaimed  Eodolph,  surprised  at  the 
fresh  coincidence  which  brought  under  his  notice  the  very  in- 
dividual from  whom,  or  from  whose  confidential  housekeeper, 
he  expected  to  glean  so  many  particulars  relative  to  La  Goua- 
leuse.  M.  Jacques  Ferrand,  who  lives  in  the  Eue  du  Sentier, 
do  you  mean?"  inquired  he. 

"  The  very  same ;  are  you  acquainted  with  him  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all ;  but  he  does  the  law  business  for  the  firm  I  belong 
to." 

"  Ah !  then  you  must  know  that  he  is  a  regular  money-grub- 
bing old  usurer;  but,  then,  let  me  do  the  man  justice.  He  is 
strictly  religious,  and  devout  as  a  monk;  never  absent  from  mass 
or  vespers,  making  his  Easter  offerings,  and  going  regularly  to 
confession.  If  he  ever  enjoys  himself,  it  is  only  along  with  the 
priests,  drinking  holy  water,  and  eating  blessed  bread.  Oh !  he 
is  almost  a  saint  from  the  strictness  of  his  life;  but,  then,  his 
heart  is  as  hard  as  iron,  and  as  stern  and  rigid  towards  others  as 
he  is  severe  towards  himself.  Why,  poor  Louise,  daughter  to 
our  sick  lodger,  has  been  his  only  servant  for  the  last  eighteen 
months.  And  what  a  good  girl  she  is !  gentle  as  a  lamb  in  temper 
and  disposition,  but  willing  as  a  horse  to  work;  and  he  only 
gives  this  poor  thing,  who  slaves  herself  to  death  for  him, 
eighteen  francs  a  month, — not  a  farthing  more,  I  give  you  my 
word ;  and  out  of  this  she  only  keeps  back  six  francs  for  her  own 
maintenance,  and  hands  over  the  other  twelve  to  her  starving 
family :  that  has  been  all  their  dependence  for  some  time  past ; 
but  when  seven  persons  have  to  live  upon  it,  it  does  not  go 
.  far." 

"  But  what  does  the  father  earn, — I  mean  provided  he  is  in- 
dustrious ?  " 

"  Industrious !  God  bless  you,  he  has  always  overworked  him- 
self;  he  is  the  soberest,  steadiest  creature  alive;  and  I  verily  be- 


A  HO  USE  IN  THE  RUE  DU  TEMPLE.  201 

lieve,  that  if  he  had  the  promise  of  obtaining  any  favor  he  liked 
to  ask  of  Heaven,  it  would  be  that  the  day  might  be  made 
doubly  as  long  as  it  now  is  that  he  might  earn  bread  enough 
to  stop  the  cries  of  his  starving  brats." 

"  Then  the  father  cannot  earn  enough  if  he  were  to  try  ever 
so  hard,  it  seems  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  poor  man  was  ill  a-bed  for  three  months,  and  that 
threw  them  all  behind;  his  wife's  health  was  quite  ruined  by  the 
fatigue  of  nursing  him  and  the  severe  want  she  experienced  of 
common  necessaries  for  herself  and  family.  She  now  lies  in  a 
dying  state;  they  have  had  nothing  for  all  that  period  besides 
Louise's  wages  and  what  they  could  obtain  from  Mother  Burette 
upon  the  few  wretched  articles  they  could  dispose  of.  True, 
the  master  for  whom  Morel  had  worked  advanced  them  a  trifle, 
out  of  respect  for  a  man  he  had  always  found  punctual  and  honest 
when  he  could  work.  But,  la!  eight  people  only  to  be  found 
in  bread,  that  is  what  I  say, — just  imagine  how  hard  it  must 
be  to  keep  life  and  soul  together  upon  such  small  means;  and 
if  you  could  only  see  the  hole  they  are  all  huddled  together 

in But  do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  about  that,  monsieur, 

for  our  dinner  is  ready,  and  the  very  thought  of  their  wretched 
garret  turns  my  stomach.  However,  happily,  M.  Bras  Rouge  is 
going  to  clear  the  house  of  them, — when  I  say  happily,  I  don't 
mean  it  ill-naturedly  in  the  least;  but  since  these  poor  Morels 
have  fallen  into  such  misery,  and  it  is  quite  out  of  our  power 
to  help  them,  why  let  them  go  and  be  miserable  elsewhere,  it  will 
be  a  heartache  the  less  for  us  all." 

"  But,  if  they  are  turned  out  from  here,  where  will  they  go 
to?" 

"Truly,  I  don't  know." 

"  And  how  much  can  this  poor  workman  earn  daily  when  in 
health,  and  without  any  calls  upon  his  time  or  attention?" 

"  Why,  if  he  had  not  to  attend  to  his  old  mother,  nurse  his 
sick  wife,  and  look  after  the  five  children,  he  could  earn  his  three 
or  four  francs  a  day,  because  he  works  like  a  downright  slave; 
but  now  that,  at  least,  three-quarters  of  his  time  are  taken  up 
with  the  family,  he  can  hardly  manage  to  earn  forty  sous." 

"  That  is  little,  indeed, — poor  creatures !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  easy  to  say  poor  creatures,  but  there  are  so  many 
equally  poor  creatures,  that  as  we  can  do  nothing  for  them,  it 
is  no  use  to  worry  ourselves  about  it — is  it,  Alfred?  And,  talk- 
ing of  consoling  ourselves,  there  stands  the  cassia,  and  we  have 
never  thought  of  tasting  it." 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Madame  Pipelet,  after  what  I  have 


202  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

just  heard  I  have  no  inclination  to  partake  of  it.  You  and  M. 
Pipelet  must  drink  my  health  in  it  when  I  am  gone." 

"  You  are  extremely  kind,  sir,"  said  the  porter ;  "  but  will 
you  not  like  to  see  the  rooms  up-stairs  ?  " 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so,  if  perfectly  convenient;  and,  if 
they  suit,  I  will  engage  them  at  once  and  leave  a  deposit." 

The  porter,  followed  by  Eodolph,  emerged  from  the  gloomy 
lodge,  and  proceeded  up-stairs. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  FOUR  STORIES. 

THE  damp,  dark  staircase,  looked  still  more  gloomy  through 
the  fog  of  a  November  day.  The  entrance  to  each  separate  set 
of  apartments  in  this  house  bore  its  own  peculiar  and  distinc- 
tive character  to  the  observant  eye.  Thus,  the  door  conducting 
to  those  of  the  commandant  bore  evidences  of  having  been  re- 
cently painted  in  close  imitation  of  ebony,  being  further  set  off 
with  a  brass  knob  rubbed  up  to  a  most  dazzling  brightness,  while 
a  gay-colored  bell-rope,  finished  by  an  enormous  tassel  of  scarlet 
silk,  contrasted  strongly  with  the  mean  and  shabby  wall  against 
which  it  hung. 

The  door  of  the  flight  above,  where  dwelt  the  female  money- 
lender and  dealer  in  divination,  was  singularly  characterized  by 
the  appearance  of  that  mystical  symbol  of  deep  wisdom  and 
oracular  knowledge,  an  owl,  which,  stuffed  to  resemble  life  as 
closely  as  the  artist  could  contrive  it,  was  nailed  on  a  small 
bracket  just  above  the  doorway;  while  a  sort  of  small  wicket, 
latticed  with  wire-work,  enabled  all  visitors  to  be  duly  scruti- 
nized ere  they  were  admitted. 

The  dwelling  of  the  Italian  charlatan,  who  was  said  to  pursue 
such  fearful  avocations,  had,  likewise,  its  whimsical  mode  of 
designating  the  pursuits  of  its  occupant,  whose  name,  traced 
in  large  letters  formed  of  horses'  teeth  upon  a  square  black- 
board, was  nailed  to  the  entrance-door;  while,  instead  of  adopt- 
ing the  classical  agency  of  a  deer's  foot  or  a  hare's  pad  for  the 
handle  of  his  bell,  there  hung  dangling  from  the  cord  the  hand 
and  arm  of  a  dried  ape, — the  withered  limb,  the  shriveled  hand, 
with  its  five  fingers,  each  so  distinctly  preserved,  and  the  articu- 
lation of  every  joint  so  clearly  defined,  the  tiny  tips  bearing  the 
nails  long  and  taper  as  those  of  a  human  creature,  presented  a 


THE  FOUR  STOK1ES.  203 

close  and  hideous  resemblance  to  the  hand  and  arm  of  a  child. 

As  Rodolph  passed  before  a  door  so  singularly  indicative  of 
all  his  worst  suspicions,  he  fancied  he  could  detect  the  sound 
of  smothered  sobs  from  within.  Then  rose  up  a  cry  so  full  of 
agony,  of  convulsive,  irrepressible  misery, — a  cry  as  if  wrung 
from  a  breaking  heart  or  the  last  wail  of  expiring  nature,  that 
the  whole  house  seemed  to  re-echo  it.  Eodolph  started:  then, 
by  a  movement  more  rapid  than  thought  itself,  he  rushed  to  the 
door  and  violently  pulled  the  bell. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  sir  ?  "  inquired  the  astonished  porter. 

"That  cry!"  said  Rodolph;  "did  you  not  hear  it?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  heard  it;  I  dare  say  it  is  some  person  whose 
teeth  M.  Bradamanti  is  taking  out;  perhaps  he  may  be  taking 
out  several, — and  it  is  painful ! " 

This  explanation,  though  a  probable  one,  did  not  satisfy 
Eodolph  as  to  the  horrid  scream  which  still  resounded  in  his 
ears.  Though  he  had  rung  the  bell  with  considerable  violence, 
no  person  had  as  yet  replied  to  his  summons :  he  could  distinctly 
hear  the  shutting  of  several  doors,  and  then,  behind  a  small  oval 
glass  let  in  beside  the  door,  and  on  which  Rodolph  had  mechan- 
ically kept  his  eye  fixed,  he  saw  the  haggard,  cadaverous  counte- 
nance of  a  human  being ;  a  mass  of  reddish  hair  strongly  mixed 
with  gray,  and  a  long  beard  of  the  same  hue,  completed  the 
hideous  ensemble:  the  face  was  seen  but  for  an  instant,  and 
vanished  as  quickly  as  though  it  had  been  a  mere  creation  of 
fancy,  leaving  Rodolph  in  a  state  of  perturbation  impossible  to 
describe. 

Short  as  had  been  the  period  of  this  apparition's  visit,  he  had 
yet  in  those  brief  instants  recalled  features  precisely  similar  and 
forever  engraven  on  his  memory, — the  eyes  shining  with  the 
color  and  brilliancy  of  the  aqua  marina  beneath  their  bushy 
sandy  eyebrows,  the  livid  complexion,  the  nose  thin,  projecting 
and  curving  like  an  eagle's  beak,  with  its  nostrils  so  curiously 
expanded  and  carved  out  till  they  exposed  a  portion  of  the  nasal 
cartilage,  resembled  closely  a  certain  Polidori,  whose  name  had 
been  so  unceremoniously  committed  by  Murphy,  in  his  conversa- 
tion with  Graiin,  to  regions  not  mentionable  to  polite  ears. 
Though  Rodolph  had  not  seen  Polidori  during  the  last  sixteen 
or  seventeen  years,  he  had  a  thousand  reasons  for  keeping  every 
feature  well  in  his  remembrance.  The  only  thing  that  told 
against  the  identity  of  the  individual  he  believed  existed  under 
the  disguised  name  of  this  quack-dentist  was  the  circumstance 
of  his  having  red  hair,  while  the  Polidori  of  Rodolph's  acquaint- 
ance had  almost  black.  That  Rodolph  experienced  no  wonder 


204  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

(always  supposing  his  conjectures  as  to  the  identity  correct) 
at  finding  a  man  whose  profound  learning,  rare  talent,  and  vast 
intelligence  he  well  knew,  sunk  to  such  degradation — it  might 
even  be  infamy,  was  because  he  knew  equally  well  that  all  these 
high  attainments  and  noble  gifts  were  allied  to  such,  ntire  per- 
versity— such  wild  and  irregular  passions,  inclinati*  3  so  cor- 
rupt, and,  above  all,  an  affected  scorn  and  contempt  for  the 
opinion  of  the  world,  which  might  lead  this  man  when  want 
and  misery  overtook  him  to  seek,  from  choice,  the  lowest  and 
least  honorable  paths  of  subsistence,  and  to  enjoy  a  sort  of 
malevolent  satisfaction  in  the  idea  of  him — the  talented,  the 
learned,  burying  all  these  precious  treasures  beneath  the  ignoble 
calling  to  which  he  had  devoted  his'  vast  powers  of  mind  and 
body.  Still,  be  it  remembered  that,  spite  of  the  close  resem- 
blance between  the  charlatan  surgeon-dentist  and  the  Polidori 
of  bygone  years,  there  still  existed  discrepancies  so  great  that 
Eodolph  balanced,  in  deep  uncertainty,  respecting  their  proving 
to  be  one  and  the  same  person. 

At  length,  turning  to  Pipelet,  he  inquired, — 

"  How  long  has  this  M.  Bradamanti  been  an  inmate  of  this 
house  ?  " 

"  About  a  year,  sir,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember, — yes,  it  is 
a  year:  I  recollect  he  took  the  lodgings  in  the  January  quarter. 
Oh !  he  is  a  very  regular  and  exact  lodger ;  he  cured  me  of  a 
desperate  attack  of  rheumatism." 

"  Madame  Pipelet  was  telling  me  of  the  reports  which  are 
circulated  of  him." 

"  How  could  she  be  so  foolish  ?  " 

"  Nay,  pray  do  not  fear  me !  I  assure  you  I  may  safely  be 
trusted." 

"  But  really,  sir,"  rejoined  Pipelet,  "  I  do  not  think  there  is 
the  least  dependence  to  be  placed  in  such  reports.  I  do  not 
believe  them,  for  one.  I  never  can  believe  them;  my  modesty 
would  not  let  me,"  added  M.  Pipelet,  turning  very  red,  and 
preceding  his  new  lodger  to  the  floor  above. 

The  more  resolved  upon  clearing  up  his  doubts  in  proportion 
to  the  very  great  annoyance  he  felt  that  the  residence  of  Polidori 
in  the  same  house  would  prove  to  him,  and  becoming  momenta- 
rily more  disposed  to  affix  a  painful  solution  to  the  enigma  of 
the  piercing  cry  he  had  heard  from  the  apartments  of  the  Italian, 
Eodolph  bound  himself  by  a  rigid  promise  to  investigate  the 
matter,  so  as  to  place  it  beyond  the  power  of  a  doubt,  and  fol- 
lowed the  porter  to  the  upper  floor,  where  was  situated  the 
chamber  he  was  desirous  of  engaging. 


THE    LABORATORY    OF    POLIDORI 


THE  FOUR  STORIES.  205 

It  was  easy  to  ascertain  the  abode  of  his  next-door  neighbor, 
Mademoiselle  Eigolette.  Thanks  to  the  charming  gallantry  of 
the  painter,  Pipelet's  mortal  foe,  the  door  of  her  chamber  was 
ornamented  after  the  manner  of  Watteau,  with  a  panel  design 
representing  about  half-a-dozen  fat,  little,  chubby  Loves,  grouped 
round  a  space  painted  sky-blue,  and  on  which  was  traced,  in 
pink  letters,  " Mademoiselle  Rigolette,  Dressmaker"  These 
plump  little  Cupids  had  all  a  task  to  perform  besides  encircling 
this  important  announcement.  One  held  the  thimble  of  Made- 
moiselle Rigolette  upon  his  tiny  finger ;  another  held  her  scissors ; 
a  third  was  provided  with  a  smoothing-iron  for  her  use;  whilst 
a  fourth  held  up  a  mirror,  as  if  to  tempt  the  young  sempstress  to 
forsake  her  work  for  the  more  gratifying  view  of  her  own  pretty 
countenance.  The  whole  was  surrounded  with  a  well-chosen 
wreath  of  flowers,  whose  gay  colors  contrasted  agreeably  with 
the  sea-green  color  of  the  door;  the  whole  offering  a  very  un- 
favorable contrast  to  the  mean  and  shabby-looking  staircase.  At 
the  risk  of  opening  anew  the  bleeding  wounds  of  Alfred,  Rodolph 
ventured  to  observe,  while  pointing  to  the  door  of  Mademoiselle 
Rigolette, — 

"  This,  I  suppose,  is  the  work  of  M.  Cabrion  ?  " 

"  It  is ;  he  destroyed  the  painting  of  the  door  by  daubing  it 
over  with  a  parcel  of  fat  indecent  children  he  called  his  loves. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  entreaties  of  Mademoiselle  Rigolette, 
and  the  weakness  of  M.  Bras  Rouge,  I  would  have  scratched  it  all 
off,  as  well  as  this  palette  filled  with  horrid  monsters,  with 
their  equally  abominable  master,  whom  you  can  see  drawn 
amongst  them.  You  may  know  him  by  his  steeple-crowned  hat." 

And  there,  sure  enough,  on  the  door  of  the  room  Rodolph  was 
about  to  hire,  might  be  seen  a  palette  surrounded  by  all  kinds 
of  odd  and  whimsical  creatures,  the  witty  conceit  of  which  might 
have  done  honor  to  Callot.  Rodolph  followed  the  porter  into  a 
tolerably  good-sized  room,  accessible  by  a  small  entrance-closet, 
or  antechamber,  having  two  windows  opening  into  the  Rue  du 
Temple.  Some  fantastic  sketches  from  the  pencil  of  M.  Cabrion, 
on  the  second  door,  had  been  scrupulously  respected  by  M.  Ger- 
main. Rodolph  saw  too  many  reasons  for  desiring  to  obtain 
this  lodging  to  hesitate  further;  therefore,  modestly  placing  a 
couple  of  francs  in  the  hand  of  the  porter,  he  said, — 

"This  chamber  will  exactly  suit  me.  Here  is  a  deposit  to 
complete  the  bargain.  To-morrow  I  will  send  in  my  furniture ; 
but  let  me  beg  of  you  not  to  destroy  the  merry  creatures  painted 
on  the  palette  at  the  entrance.  It  is  really  very  droll !  Don't 
you  think  so?" 


206  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Droll !  "  groaned  poor  Pipelet ;  "  not  I !  Ah,  sir !  how  would 
you  like  to  dream  night  after  night  that  you  were  being  hunted 
by  a  legion  of  little  ugly  devils  like  these  on  the  door,  with 
Cabrion  at  their  head  urging  them  on,  and  then  fancying  you 
are  trying  to  get  away,  and  cannot  ?  Oh !  I  have  woke  all  in  a 
perspiration  from  such  dreams  hundreds  of  times  since  that 
infamous  Cabrion  began  persecuting  me." 

"  Why,  honestly  speaking,  I  cannot  say  the  chase  would  be 
a  very  agreeable  one,  even  though  but  a  dream.  However,  tell 
me,  have  I  any  need  to  see  M.  Bras  Eouge — your  great  man 
here — about  renting  this  apartment  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,  sir.  He  rarely  comes  near  the  place,  except 
when  he  has  any  private  matters  to  arrange  with  Mother  Burette. 
I  am  the  only  person  to  treat  with  about  hiring  apartments.  I 
must  heg  the  favor  of  your  name." 

"Rodolph." 

"Rodolph  what?" 

"  Plain  Eodolph,  M.  Pipelet — nothing  more,  if  you  please." 

"  Just  as  you  please,  sir.  I  did  not  ask  from  curiosity.  Every 
man  has  a  right  to  his  own  free  will,  as  well  as  to  decide  upon 
the  name  he  chooses  to  be  called." 

"  What  do  you  think,  M.  Pipelet,  as  to  the  propriety  of  my 
going  to-morrow,  as  a  new  neighbor  of  Morel's,  to  inquire 
whether  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  them  ?  Since  my  predecessor, 
M.  Germain,  was  permitted  to  assist  them  according  to  his 
means,  why  should  they  not  accept  of  what  trifling  help  I  can 
afford?" 

"  Why,  sir,  I  see  no  harm  in  your  going  to  call  on  the  Morels, 
because  it  may  please  the  poor  things;  but  I  hardly  see  much 
good  it  can  do,  as  they  are  so  shortly  to  be  turned  out  of  the 
house."  Then,  as  if  suddenly  struck  with  a  new  idea,  M.  Pipelet 
exclaimed,  winking  at  Rodolph  with  what  he  intended  should  be 
a  very  facetious  and  penetrating  look,  "  I  see,  I  see — you  mean 
to  begin  making  acquaintance  with  the  lodgers  at  the  top  of 
the  house,  that  you  may  be  able  to  work  your  way  down  to  Made- 
moiselle Rigolette.  Ah!  I've  found  you  out,  you  see — pretty 
girl " 

"  Well,  I  think  you  have  discovered  my  intentions,  so  I  will 
confess  at  once  that  I  mean  to  try  and  be  on  friendly  terms  with 
my  agreeable  neighbor." 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  that,  sir — it  is  customary ;  only  all  cor- 
rect, all  right  and  honorable — you  understand.  Between  you 
and  me,  I  strongly  suspect  Mademoiselle  Rigolette  heard  us 
coming  up-stairs,  and  that  she  is  watching  to  have  a  look  as  we 


THE  FOUR  STORIES.  207 

go  down.  I  will  make  a  noise  purposely  in  locking  the  door; 
if  you  look  sharp,  you  will  see  her  as  we  pass  the  landing." 
And,  true  to  the  porter's  suspicions,  the  door  so  tastefully  en- 
livened by  the  fat  Cupids,  a  la  Watteau,  was  seen  to  open  gently, 
and  Rodolph  had  a  brief  view  of  a  little  turned-up  nose,  and  a 
pair  of  large,  staring  black  eyes,  peeping  through  the  narrow 
space ;  but,  as  he  slackened  his  steps,  the  door  was  hastily  shut. 
"  I  told  you  she  was  watching  us,"  said  the  porter.  Then  added, 
"Excuse  me  one  instant,  sir;  I  want  to  step  up  to  my  ware- 
house." 

"Where  is  that?" 

"  At  the  top  of  this  ladder  is  the  landing-place,  on  which  the 
door  of  Morel's  garret  opens,  and  in  the  wainscoting  of  this 
landing  is  a  small  dark  cupboard,  where  I  keep  my  leather,  and 
the  wall  is  so  full  of  cracks,  that  when  I  am  in  this  hole  I 
can  see  and  hear  everything,  the  same  as  if  I  was  in  Morel's 
room.  Not  that  I  wish  to  spy  what  the  poor  creatures  are  about, 
God  knows — quite  the  contrary.  But  please  to  excuse  me  for  a 
few  minutes,  sir,  whilst  I  fetch  my  bit  of  leather.  If  you  will 
have  the  goodness  to  go  down-stairs,  I  will  rejoin  you." 

And,  so  saying,  Pipelet  commenced  ascending  the  steep  ladder 
communicating  with  his  warehouse,  as  he  styled  it — a  some- 
what perilous  feat  for  a  person  of  his  age. 

Rodolph,  thus  left  alone,  cast  another  glance  towards  the 
chamber  of  Mademoiselle  Rigolette,  remembering  with  deep  in- 
terest all  he  had  heard  of  her  being  the  favorite  companion  of 
the  poor  Goualeuse,  and  recalling  also  the  information  she  was 
said  to  possess  touching  the  residence  of  the  Schoolmaster's  son, 
when  the  sound  of  some  person  quitting  the  apartments  of  the 
quack-doctor  below  attracted  his  attention,  and  he  could  dis- 
tinctly hear  the  light  step  of  a  female,  with  the  rustling  of  a 
silk  dress.  Rodolph  paused  till  the  sounds  had  died  away,  and 
then  descended  the  stairs.  Something  white  had  fallen  about 
half-way  down;  it  had  evidently  been  dropped  by  the  person 
who  had  just  quitted  Polidori.  Rodolph  picked  it  up,  and 
carried  it  to  one  of  the  narrow  windows  which  lighted  the  stair- 
case. It  was  a  pocket-handkerchief,  of  the  finest  cambric, 
trimmed  with  costly  lace,  and  bearing  in  one  corner  the  initials 
"  L.  N."  beautifully  embroidered,  and  surmounted  with  a  ducal 
coronet.  The  handkerchief  was  literally  soaked  in  tears. 

Rodolph's  first  impulse  was  to  follow' the  person  from  whose 
hand  this  mute  evidence  of  deep  woe  had  fallen,  with  the  view 
of  restoring  it,  but,  reflecting  that  such  a  step  might  be  mis- 
taken for  impertinent  curiosity,  he  determined  to  preserve  it 


208  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

carefully,  as  the  first  link  in  an  adventure  he  found  himself 
almost  involuntarily  engaged,  and  from  which  he  augured  a  pain- 
ful and  melancholy  termination.  As  he  returned  to  the  porteress, 
he  inquired  whether  a  female  had  not  just  come  down-stairs. 

"A  female! — No,  indeed,  sir — it  was  a  fine,  tall,  slender- 
looking  lady,  not  a  female,  and  covered  over  with  a  thick  black 
veil.  She  has  come  from  M.  Bradamanti.  Little  Tortillard 
fetched  a  coach  for  her,  and  she  has  just  driven  away  in  it. 
What  struck  me  was  the  impudence  of  that  little  beggar  to  seat 
himself  behind  the  coach.  I  dare  say,  though,  it  was  to  see 
where  the  lady  went  to,  for  he  is  as  mischievous  as  a  magpie,  and 
as  prying  as  a  ferret,  for  all  his  club-foot." 

"  So  then,"  thought  Eodolph,  "  the- name  and  address  of  this 
unhappy  lady  will  soon  be  known  to  this  impostor,  since  it  is, 
doubtless,  by  his  directions  she  is  followed  and  watched  by  this 
imp  of  an  emissary." 

"  Well,  sir,  and  what  do  you  think  of  the  apartment  ?  will  it 
suit  you  ?  "  inquired  Madame  Pipelet. 

"  Nothing  could  have  suited  me  better.  I  have  taken  it,  and 
to-morrow  I  shall  send  in  my  furniture." 

"  Well,  then,  thank  God  for  a  good  lodger !  I  am  sure  it  was 
a  lucky  chance  for  us  sent  you  here." 

"  I  hope  you  will  find  it  so,  madam.  I  think  it  is  well  under- 
stood between  us  that  you  undertake  to  manage  all  my  little 
domestic  matters  for  me.  I  shall  come  and  superintend  the  re- 
moval of  my  goods.  Adieu !  " 

So  saying,  Eodolph  left  the  lodge.  The  results  of  his  visit 
to  the  house  in  the  Eue  du  Temple  were  highly  important,  both 
as  regarded  the  solution  of  the  deep  mystery  he  so  ardently 
desired  to  unravel,  and  also  as  affording  a  wide  field  for  the 
exercise  of  his  earnest  endeavors  to  do  good  and  to  prevent  evil. 
After  mature  calculation,  he  considered  himself  to  have  achieved 
the  following  results : — 

First,  he  had  ascertained  that  Mademoiselle  Eigolette  was  in 
possession  of  the  address  of  Germain,  the  Schoolmaster's  son. 
Secondly,  a  young  female,  who,  from  appearances,  might  un- 
happily be  the  Marquise  d'Harville,  had  made  an  appointment 
with  the  commandant  for  the  morrow, — perhaps  to  her  own 
utter  ruin  and  disgrace;  and  Eodolph  had  (as  we  have  before 
mentioned)  numerous  reasons  for  wishing  to  preserve  the  honor 
and  peace  of  one  for  whom  he  felt  so  lively  an  interest,  as  he 
took  in  all  concerning  M.  d'Harville.  An  honest  and  industrious 
artisan,  crushed  by  the  deepest  misery,  was,  with  his  whole 
family,  about  to  be  turned  into  the  streets  through  the  means 


TOM  AND  SARAH.  209 

of  Bras  Rouge.  Further,  Rodolph  had  undesignedly  caught  a 
glimpse  of  an  adventure  in  which  the  charlatan  Caesar  Brada- 
manti  (possibly  Polidori)  and  a  female,  evidently  of  rank  and 
fashion,  were  the  principal  actors.  And,  finally,  La  Chouette, 
having  lately  quitted  the  hospital,  where  she  had  been  since 
the  affair  in  the  Allee  des  Veuves,  had  reappeared  on  the  stage, 
and  was  evidently  engaged  in  some  underhand  proceedings  with 
the  fortune-teller  and  female  money-lender  who  occupied  the 
second  floor  of  the  house. 

Having  carefully  noted  down  all  these  particulars,  Rodolph 
returned  to  his  house,  Rue  Plumet,  deferring  till  the  following 
day  his  visit  to  the  notary,  Jacques  Ferrand. 

It  will  be  no  doubt  fresh  in  the  memory  of  our  readers,  that 
on  this  same  evening  Rodolph  was  engaged  to  be  present  at  a 

grand  ball  given  by  the  ambassador  of .  Before  following 

our  hero  in  this  new  excursion,  let  us  cast  a  retrospective  glance 
on  Tom  and  Sarah, — personages  of  the  greatest  importance  in 
the  development  of  this  history. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

TOM    AND    SARAH. 

SARAH  SEYTON,  widow  of  Count  Macgregor,  and  at  this 
time  thirty-six  or  thirty-seven  years  of  age,  was  of  an  excellent 
Scotch  family,  daughter  of  a  baronet,  and  a  country  gentleman. 
Beautiful  and  accomplished,  an  orphan  at  seventeen  years  old, 
she  had  left  Scotland  with  her  brother,  Thomas  Seyton  of 
Halsbury.  The  absurd  predictions  of  an  old  Highland  nurse 
had  excited  almost  to  madness  the  two  leading  vices  in  Sarah's 
character — pride  and  ambition:  the  destiny  predicted  for  her, 
and  in  which  she  fully  believed,  was  of  the  highest  order, — in 
fact,  sovereign  rank.  The  prophecy  had  been  so  often  repeated, 
that  the  young  Scotch  girl  eventually  fully  credited  its  fulfil- 
ment ;  and  she  constantly  repeated  to  herself,  to  bear  out  her 
ambitious  dream,  that  a  fortune-teller  had  thus  promised  a 
crown  to  the  handsome  and  excellent  creature  who  afterwards 
sat  on  the  throne  of  France,  and  who  was  queen  as  much  by  her 
pi-aces  and  her  kind  heart  as  others  have  been  by  their  grandeur 
and  majesty. 

Strange  to  say,  Thomas  Seyton,  as  superstitious  as  his  sister, 
encouraged  her  foolish  hopes,  and  resolved  on  devoting  his  life 


210  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

to  the  realization  of  Sarah's  dream, — a  dream  as  dazzling  as  it 
was  deceptive.  However,  the  brother  and  sister  were  not  so 
blind  as  to  believe  implicitly  in  this  Highland  prophecy,  and  to 
look  absolutely  for  a  throne  of  the  first  rank  in  a  splendid  disdain 
of  secondary  royalties  or  reigning  principalities ;  on  the  contrary, 
so  that  the  handsome  Scotch  lassie  should  one  day  encircle  her 
imperial  forehead  with  a  sovereign  crown,  the  haughty  pair 
agreed  to  condescend  to  shut  their  eyes  to  the  importance  of  the 
throne  they  coveted.  By  the  assistance  of  the  Almanack,  de 
Gotha  for  the  year  of  grace  1819,  Seyton  arranged,  before  he 
left  Scotland,  a  sort  of  synopsis  of  the  ages  of  all  the  kings- 
and  ruling  powers  in  Europe  then  unmarried. 

Although  very  ridiculous,  yet  the  brother  and  sister's  ambition 
was  freed  from  all  shameful  modes:  Seyton  was  prepared  to  aid 
his  sister  Sarah  in  snatching  at  the  thread  of  the  conjugal 
band  by  which  she  hoped  eventually  to  fasten  a  crown  upon  her 
brows.  He  would  be  her  participator  in  any  and  all  stratagems 
which  could  tend  to  consummate  this  end;  but  he  would  rather 
have  killed  his  sister  than  see  her  the  mistress  of  a  prince, 
even  though  the  liaison  should  terminate  in  a  marriage  of 
reparation. 

The  matrimonial  inventory  that  resulted  from  Seyton  and 
Sarah's  researches  in  the  Almanack  de  Gotha  was  satisfactory. 
The  Germanic  Confederation  furnished  forth  a  numerous  con- 
tingent of  young  presumptive  sovereigns.  Seyton  was  not 
ignorant  of  the  sort  of  German  wedlock  which  is  called  a  "  left- 
handed  marriage/*  to  which,  as  being  legitimate  to  a  certain 
extent,  he  would,  as  a  last  resource,  have  resigned  his  sister. 
To  Germany,  then,  it  was  resolved  to  bend  their  steps,  in  order  to 
commence  this  search  for  a  royal  spouse. 

If  the  project  appears  improbable,  such  hopes  ridiculous,  let 
us  first  reply  by  saying  that  unbridled  ambition,  excited  by 
superstitious  belief,  rarely  claims  for  itself  the  light  of  reason 
in  its  enterprises,  and  will  dare  the  wildest  impossibilities;  yet, 
when  we  recall  certain  events,  even  in  our  own  times,  from  high 
and  most  reputable  morganatic  marriages  between  sovereigns 
and  female  subjects,  down  to  the  loving  elopement  of  Miss 
Penelope  Smith  and  the  Prince  of  Capua,  we  cannot  refuse 
some  chance  of  fortunate  result  to  the  imagination  of  Seyton 
and  Sarah.  Let  us  add  that  the  lady  united  to  a  very  lovely  per- 
son singular  abilities  and  very  varied  talents ;  whilst  there  were 
added  a  power  of  seduction  the  more  dangerous  as  it  was  united 
to  a  mind  unbending  and  calculating,  a  disposition  cunning  and 
selfish,  a  deep  hypocrisy,  a  stubborn  and  despotic  will, — all 


TOM  AMD  SARAH.  211 

covered  by  the  outward  show  of  a  generous,  warm,  and  impas- 
sioned nature. 

In  her  appearance  there  was  as  much  deceit  as  in  her  mind. 
Her  full  and  dark  eyes,  now  sparkling,  now  languishing,  beneath 
her  coal-black  brow  could  well  dissimulate  all  the  warmth  of 
love  and  desire.  Yet  the  burning  impulses  of  love  never  throbbed 
beneath  her  icy  bosom :  no  surprise  of  the  heart  or  of  the  senses 
ever  intervened  to  disturb  the  cold  and  pitiless  calculations 
of  this  woman — crafty,  selfish,  and  ambitious.  When  she 
reached  the  Continent,  she  resolved,  in  accordance  with  her 
brother's  advice  not  to  commence  her  conjugal  and  regal 
campaign  until  she  had  resided  some  time  in  Paris,  where  she 
determined  to  complete  her  education,  and  rub  off  the  rust  of 
her  native  country,  by  associating  with  a  society  which  was 
embellished  by  all  that  was  elegant,  tasteful,  and  refined. 
Sarah  was  introduced  into  the  best  society  and  the  highest  circles, 
thanks  to  the  letters  of  recommendation  and  considerate 
patronage  of  the  English  "ambassador's"  lady  and  the  old 
Marquis  d'Harville,  who  had  known  Tom  and  Sarah's  father 
in  England. 

Persons  of  deceitful,  calculating,  and  cold  dispositions,  acquire 
with  great  facility  language  and  manners  quite  in  opposition 
to  their  natural  character,  as  with  them  all  is  outside,  surface, 
appearance,  varnish,  bark;  or  they  soon  find  that,  if  their  real 
characters  are  detected,  they  are  undone:  so,  thanks  to  the  sort 
of  instinct  of  self-preservation  with  which  they  are  gifted,  they 
feel  all  the  necessity  of  the  moral  mask,  and  so  paint  and  cos- 
tume themselves  with  all  the  alacrity  and  skill  of  a  practised 
comedian.  Thus,  after  six  months'  residence  in  Paris,  Sarah 
was  in  a  condition  to  contest  with  the  most  Parisian  of  Parisian 
women,  as  to  the  piquant  finish  of  her  wit,  the  charm  of  her 
liveliness,  the  ingenuousness  of  her  flirtation,  and  the  exciting 
simplicity  of  her  looks,  at  once  chaste  and  passionate. 

Finding  his  sister  in  full  panoply  for  his  campaign,  Seyton 
left  with  her  for  Germany,  furnished  with  the  best  letters  of 
introduction.  The  first  state  of  the  German  Confederation 
which  headed  Sarah's  "  road-book "  was  the  Grand  Duchy  of 
Gerolstein,  thus  styled  in  the  diplomatic  and  infallible  Almanack 
de  Gotha  for  the  year  of  grace  1819. 

Genealogy  of  the  Sovereigns  of  Europe  and  their  Families. 
"  GEROLSTEIN. 

"  Grand  Duke  :  MAXIMILIAN  RODOLPH,  10th  December,  1764.     Succeeded 
hia  father,  CHARLES  FREDERIC  RODOLPH,  21st  April,  1785.    Widower 


212  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

January  1808,  by  decease  of  his  wife,  LOUISA  AMELIA,  daughter  of 
JOHN  AUGUSTUS,  Prince  of  BUKGLEN. 

"  Son  :  GUSTAVUS  RODOLPH,  born  17th  April,  1803. 

''Mother:  Dowager  Grand  Duchess  JUDITH,  widow  of  the  Grand  Duke, 
CHARLES  FREDERIC  KODOLPU,  21st  April,  1785." 

Seyton,  with  much  practical  good  sense,  had  first  noted  down 
on  his  list  the  youngest  princes  whom  he  coveted  as  brothers-in- 
law,  thinking  that  extreme  youth  is  more  easily  seduced  than 
ripened  age.  Moreover,  we  have  already  said  that  the  brother 
and  sister  were  particularly  recommended  to  the  reigning  Duke 
of  Gerolstein  by  the  old  Marquis  d'Harville,  caught,  like  the 
rest  of  the  world,  by  Sarah,  whose  beauty,  grace,  and,  above  all, 
delightful  manners,  he  could  not  sufficiently  admire. 

It  is  superfluous  to  say  that  the  presumptive  heir  of  the 
Grand  Duchy  of  Gerolstein  was  Gustavus  RODOLPH:  he  was 
hardly  eighteen  when  Tom  and  Sarah  were  presented  to  his 
father.  The  arrival  of  the  young  Scotch  lady  was  an  event  in 
the  German  court,  so  quiet,  simple,  and  almost  patriarchal  in 
its  habits  and  observances.  The  Grand  Duke,  a  most  worthy 
gentleman,  governed  his  states  with  wise  firmness  and  paternal 
kindness.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  actual  and  moral  happiness 
of  the  principality  whose  laborious  and  steady  population, 
by  their  soberness  and  piety,  presented  a  pure  specimen  of  the 
German  character.  This  excellent  people  enjoyed  so  much  real 
felicity,  and  were  so  perfectly  contented  with  their  condition, 
that  the  enlightened  care  of  the  Grand  Duke  was  not  much 
called  into  action  to  preserve  them  from  the  mania  of  constitu- 
tional innovations.  As  far  as  modern  discovery  went,  and  those 
practical  suggestions  which  have  a  wholesome  influence  over  the 
well-being  and  morals  of  his  people,  the  Grand  Duke  was  always 
anxious  to  acquire  knowledge  himself,  and  apply  it  invariably 
for  the  use  and  benefit  of  his  people,  his  residents  at  the  capitals 
of  the  different  states  of  Europe  having  little  else  to  occupy 
themselves  whilst  on  their  mission  but  to  keep  their  master  fully 
informed  as  to  the  rise  and  progress  of  science  and  all  the  arts 
which  are  connected  with  public  welfare  and  public  utility. 

We  have  said  that  the  Duke  felt  as  much  affection  as  gratitude 
for  the  old  Marquis  d'Harville,  who,  in  1815,  had  rendered  him 
immense  service ;  and  so,  thanks  to  his  powerful  recommendation, 
Sarah  of  Halsbury  and  her  brother  were  received  at  the  court 
of  Gerolstein  with  every  distinction,  and  with  marked  kindness. 
A  fortnight  after  her  arrival,  the  young  Scotch  girl,  endued 
with  so  profound  a  spirit  of  observation,  had  easily  penetrated 
the  firm  character  and  open  heart  of  the  Grand  Duke.  Before 


TOM  AND  SARAH.  213 

she  began  to  seduce  his  son, — a  thing  of  course, — she  had  wisely 
resolved  to  discover  the  disposition  of  the  father.  Although  he 
appeared  to  dote  on  his  son,  she  was  yet  fully  convinced  that  this 
father,  with  all  his  tenderness,  would  never  swerve  from  certain 
principles,  certain  ideas  as  to  the  duty  of  princes,  and  would 
never  consent  to  what  he  would  consider,  a  mesalliance  for  his 
son,  and  that  not  through  pride,  but  from  conscience,  reason,  and 
dignity.  A  man- of  this  firm  mold,  and  the  more  affectionate 
and  good  in  proportion  as  he  is  firm  and  determined,  never 
abates  one  jot  of  that  which  affects  his  conscience,  his  reason, 
and  his  dignity. 

Sarah  was  on  the  point  of  renouncing  her  enterprise  in  the 
face  of  obstacles  so  insurmountable;  but,  reflecting  that,  as 
Rodolph  was  very  young,  and  his  gentleness  and  goodness,  his 
character  at  once  timid  and  meditative,  were  generally  spoken 
of,  she  thought  she  might  find  compensation  in  the  feeble  and 
irresolute  disposition  of  the  young  prince,  and  therefore  per- 
sisted in  her  project,  and  again  revived  her  hopes. 

On  this  new  essay,  the  management  of  herself  and  brother 
were  most  masterly.  The  young  lady  knew  full  well  how  to 
propitiate  all  around  her,  and  particularly  the  persons  who  might 
have  been  jealous  or  envious  of  her  accomplishments,  and 
she  caused  her  beauty  and  grace  to  be  forgotten  beneath  the  veil 
of  modest  simplicity  with  which  she  covered  them.  She  soon 
became  the  idol,  not  only  of  the  Grand  Duke,  but  of  his 
mother,  the  Dowager  Grand  Duchess  Judith,  who,  in  spite  of, 
or  through,  her  ninety  years  of  age,  loved  to  excess  everything 
that  was  young  and  charming. 

Sarah  and  her  brother  often  talked  of  their  departure,  but 
the  sovereign  of  Gerolstein  would  never  consent  to  it;  and  that 
he  might  completely  attach  the  two  to  him,  he  pressed  on  Sir 
Thomas  Seyton  the  acceptance  of  the  vacant  post  of  his  "  first 
groom  of  the  chamber/'  and  entreated  Sarah  not  to  quit  the 
Grand  Duchess  Judith,  as  she  could  not  do  without  her.  After 
much  hesitation,  overcome  by  the  most  pressing  entreaties, 
Sarah  and  Seyton  accepted  such  brilliant  offers,  and  decided  on 
establishing  themselves  at  the  court  of  Gerolstein,  where  they 
had  been  for  two  months. 

Sarah,  who  was  an  accomplished  musician,  knowing  the  taste 
of  the  Grand  Duchess  for  the  old  masters,  and,  above  all,  for 
Gluck,  sent  for  the  chef-d'oeuvre  of  this  attractive  composer, 
and  fascinated  the  old  princess  by  her  unfailing  complaisance, 
as  well  as  the  remarkable  skill  with  which  she  sang  those  old  airs, 
so  beautiful  in  their  melody,  so  expresssive  in  their  character. 


214:  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

As  for  Seyton,  he  knew  how  to  make  himself  very  useful  in 
the  occupation  which  had  been  conferred  upon  him.  He  was  a 
good  judge  of  horses,  was  orderly  and  firm  in  his  conduct  and 
arrangements,  and  so,  in  a  short  time,  completely  remodeled 
the  stables  of  the  Grand  Duke,  which,  up  to  that  time,  had  been 
neglected,  and  become  disorganized. 

The  brother  and  sister  were  soon  equally  beloved,  feted,  and 
admired  in  this  court.  The  master's  preference  soon  commands 
the  preference  of  those  below  him.  Sarah  required,  in  aid  of 
her  future  projects,  too  much  aid  not  to  employ  her  insinuating 
powers  in  acquiring  partisans.  Her  hypocrisy,  clothed  in  most 
attractive  shapes,  easily  deluded  the  simple-hearted  Germans, 
and  the  general  feeling  soon  authorized  the  extreme  kindness  of 
the  Grand  Duke. 

Thus,  then,  our  designing  pair  were  established  at  the  court 
of  Gerolstein,  agreeably  and  securely  placed  without  any  ref- 
erence to  Rodolph.  By  a  lucky  chance,  some  days  after  the  ar- 
rival of  Sarah,  the  young  prince  had  gone  away  to  the  inspection 
of  troops,  with  an  aide-de-camp  and  the  faithful  Murphy.  This 
absence,  doubly  auspicious  to  the  views  of  Sarah,  allowed  her  to 
arrange  at  her  ease  the  principal  threads  of  the  fillet  she  was 
weaving,  without  being  deterred  by  the  presence  of  the  young 
prince,  whose  too  open  admiration  might,  perhaps,  have 
awakened  the  suspicions  of  the  Grand  Duke.  On  the  contrary, 
in  the  absence  of  his  son,  he  did  not,  unfortunately,  reflect  that 
he  was  admitting  into  the  closest  intimacy  a  young  girl  of  sur- 
passing beauty  and  of  lively  wit,  as  Rodolph  must  discover  at 
every  moment  of  the  day. 

Sarah  was  perfectly  insensible  to  a  reception  so  kind  and 
generous — to  the  full  confidence  with  which  she  was  introduced 
into  the  very  heart  of  this  sovereign  family.  Neither  brother 
nor  sister  paused  for  a  moment  in  their  bad  designs;  they  de- 
termined upon  a  principle  to  bring  trouble  and  annoyance  into 
this  peaceable  and  happy  court;  they  calmly  calculated  the 
probable  results  of  the  cruel  divisions  they  should  establish  be- 
tween a  father  and  son  up  to  that  period  so  tenderly  united. 


A  few  words  concerning  Rodolph's  early  days  may  be  neces- 
sary. During  his  infancy,  he  had  been  extremely  delicate.  His 
father  reasoned  thereon  in  this  strange  manner.  English 
country  gentlemen  are  generally  remarkable  for  their  robust 
health.  This  advantage  results  generally  from  their  bodily 


TOM  AND  BARAff.  215 

training,  which  is  simple,  rural,  and  develops  their  full  vigor. 
Rodolph  must  leave  the  hands  of  women;  his  temperament  is 
delicate,  and,  perhaps,  by  accustoming  this  child  to  live  like  the 
son  of  an  English  farmer  (with  some  few  exceptions),  I  shall 
strengthen  his  constitution. 

The  Grand  Duke  sent  to  England  for  a  man  worthy  of  the 
trust,  and  capable  of  directing  such  a  course  of  bodily  culture, 
and  Sir  Walter  Murphy,  an  athletic  specimen  of  a  Yorkshire 
country  gentleman,  was  entrusted  with  this  important  charge. 
The  direction  which  he  gave  to  the  mind  and  body  of  the  young 
prince  were  such  as  entirely  coincided  with  the  views  and  wishes 
of  the  Grand  Duke.  Murphy  and  his  pupil  lived  for  many  years 
in  a  beautiful  farm-house,  situated  in  the  midst  of  woods  and 
fields,  some  leagues  from  the  capital  of  Gerolstein,  and  in  a  most 
picturesque  and  salubrious  spot.  Rodolph,  free  from  all  eti- 
quette, and  employed  with  Murphy  in  out-door  labor  propor- 
tionate to  his  age,  lived  the  sober,  manly,  and  regular  life  of  the 
country,  having  for  his  pleasure  and  amusement  the  violent 
exercises  of  wrestling,  pugilism,  riding  on  horseback,  and  hunt- 
ing. In  the  midst  of  the  pure  air  of  the  meadows,  woods,  and 
mountains,  he  underwent  an  entire  change,  and  grew  up  as 
vigorous  as  a  young  oak;  his  pale  cheek  became  suffused  with 
the  ruddy  glow  of  health ;  always  lithe  and  active,  he  under- 
went now  the  most  severe  fatigues,  his  address,  energy,  and 
courage  supplying  what  was  deficient  in  his  muscular  power; 
so  that,  when  only  in  his  fifteenth  or  sixteenth  year,  he  was  al- 
ways the  conqueror  in  his  contests  with  young  men  his  superiors 
in  age. 

His  scientific  education  necessarily  suffered  from  the  prefer- 
ence given  to  his  physical  training,  and  Rodolph's  knowledge 
was  very  limited ;  but  the  Grand  Duke  very  wisely  reflected  that, 
to  have  a  well-informed  mind,  it  must  be  supported  by  a  strong 
physical  frame,  and  that,  this  acquired,  the  intellectual  faculties 
would  develop  themselves  the  more  rapidly. 

The  kind  Walter  Murphy  was  by  no  means  a  sage,  and  could 
only  convey  to  Rodolph  some  primary  instructions;  but  no  one 
knew  better  than  he  how  to  inspire  his  pupil  with  the  feeling  of 
what  is  just,  loyal,  and  generous,  and  a  horror  of  everything 
that  was  mean,  low,  and  co'ntemptible.  These  repugnances, 
these  powerful  and  wholesome  admonitions,  took  deep  and  last- 
ing root  in  the  very  soul  of  Rodolph ;  and  although,  in  after 
life,  these  principles  were  violently  shaken  by  the  storm  of  pas- 
sions, yet  they  were  never  eradicated  from  his  heart.  The  levin 
bolt  strikes,  splits,  and  rends  the  deeply-planted  tree;  but  the 


216  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

sap  still  maintains  its  hold  in  the  roots,  and  a  thousand  green 
branches  spring  fresh  from  what  was  taken  for  a  withered  and 
dead  tree. 

Murphy,  then,  gave  to  Eodolph,  if  we  may  use  the  expression, 
health  to  both  body  and  mind;  he  made  him  robust,  active,  and 
daring,  with  a  love  for  all  that  was  good  and  right,  and  a  hatred 
for  whatsoever  was  wicked  and  bad.  Having  fulfilled  his  task 
to  admiration,  the  squire,  called  to  England  on  very  important 
business,  left  Germany  for  some  time,  to  the  great  regret  of 
Rodolph,  who  loved  him  extremely. 

His  son's  health  having  been  so  satisfactorily  established,  the 
Grand  Duke  turned  his  most  serious  attention  to  the  mental 
education  of  his  dearly-beloved  son.  A  certain  Doctor  Caesar 
Polidori,  a  renowned  linguist,  a  distinguished  chemist,  learned 
historian,  and  deeply  versed  in  the  study  of  all  the  exact  and 
physical  sciences,  was  entrusted  with  the  charge  of  cultivating 
and  improving  the  rich  but  virgin  soil  so  carefully  and  well  pre- 
pared by  Murphy.  This  time  the  Grand  Duke's  choice  was  a 
most  unfortunate  one,  or,  rather,  his  religious  feelings  were  in- 
famously imposed  upon  by  the  person  who  introduced  the  Doc- 
tor to  him,  and  caused  him  to  think  on  Polidori  as  the  preceptor 
of  the  young  prince.  Atheist,  cheat,  and  hypocrite,  full  of 
stratagem  and  trick,  concealing  the  most  dangerous  immorality, 
the  most  hardened  skepticism,  under  an  austere  exterior,  pro- 
foundly versed  in  the  knowledge  of  human  nature,  or,  rather, 
only  having  tried  the  worst  side — the  disgraceful  passions  of 
humanity — Doctor  Polidori  was  the  most  hateful  Mentor  that 
could  have  been  entrusted  with  the  education  of  a  young  man. 

Rodolph  left  with  the  deepest  regrets  the  independent  and 
animating  life  which  he  had  hitherto  led  with  Murphy  to  go  and 
become  pale  with  the  study  of  books,  and  submit  himself  to  the 
irksome  ceremonies  of  his  father's  -court,  and  he  at  once  enter- 
tained a  strong  prejudice  against  his  tutor.  It  could  not  be 
otherwise. 

On  quitting  his  young  friend,  the  poor  squire  had  compared 
him,  and  with  justice,  to  a  young  wild  colt,  full  of  grace  and 
fire,  carried  off  from  his  native  prairies,  where  he  had  dwelt, 
free  as  air,  and  joyous  as  a  bird,  to  be  bridled  and  spurred,  that 
he  might  under  that  system  learn  how  to  moderate  and 
economize  those  powers  which,  hitherto,  he  had  only  employed 
in  running  and  leaping  in  any  way  he  pleased. 

Rodolph  began  by  telling  Polidori  that  he  had  no  taste  for 
study,  but  that  he  greatly  preferred  the  free  exercise  of  his  arms 
and  legs,  to  breathe  the  pure  air  of  the  fields,  to  traverse  the 


TOM  AND  SARAH.  217 

woods  and  the  mountains,  and  that  a  good  horse  and  a  good 
gun  were  preferable  to  all  the  books  in  the  universe.  The  Doc- 
tor was  prepared  for  this  antipathy,  and  was  secretly  delighted 
at  it,  for,  in  another  way,  the  hopes  of  this  man  were  as  ambiti- 
ous as  those  of  Sarah.  Although  the  grand-duchy  of  Gerol- 
stein  was  only  a  secondary  state,  Polidori  indulged  the  idea  of 
being  one  day  its  Richelieu,  and  of  making  Rodolph  play  the 
part  of  the  do-nothing  prince.  But,  desirous  above  all  things 
of  currying  favor  with  his  pupil,  and  of  making  him  forget 
Murphy,  by  his  own  concession  and  compliance,  he  concealed 
from  the  Grand  Duke  the  young  prince's  repugnance  for  study, 
and  boasted  of  his  application  to,  and  rapid  progress  in,  his 
studies;  whilst  some  examinations  arranged  between  himself 
and  Rodolph,  which  had  the  air  of  being  impromptu  questions, 
confirmed  the  Grand  Duke  in  his  blind  and  implicit  confidence. 
By  degrees,  the  dislike  which  Rodolph  at  first  entertained  for 
the  Doctor  changed,  on  the  young  prince's  part,  into  a  cool 
familiarity,  very  unlike  the  real  attachment  he  had  for  Murphy. 
By  degrees,  he  found  himself  leagued  with  Polidori  (although 
from  very  innocent  causes)  by  the  same  ties  that  unite  two 
guilty  persons.  Sooner  or  later,  Rodolph  was  sure  to  despise  a 
man  of  the  age  and  character  of  the  Doctor,  who  so  unworthily 
lied  to  excuse  the  idleness  of  his  pupil.  This  Polidori  knew; 
but  he  also  knew  that  if  we  do  not  at  once  sever  our  connections 
with  corrupt  minds  in  disgust,  by  degrees,  and  in  spite  of  our 
better  reason,  we  become  familiar  with  and  too  frequently  ad- 
mire them,  until,  insensibly,  we  hear  without  shame  or  re- 
proach those  things  mocked  at  and  vituperated  which  we 
formerly  loved  and  revered.  Besides,  the  Doctor  was  too  cun- 
ning all  at  once  to  shock  certain  noble  sentiments  and  convic- 
tions which  Rodolph  had  derived  from  the  admirable  lessons  of 
Murphy.  After  having  vented  much  raillery  on  the  coarseness 
of  the  early  occupations  of  his  young  pupil,  the  Doctor,  laying 
aside  his  thin  mask  of  austerity,  had  greatly  aroused  the  curi- 
osity and  heated  the  fancy  of  the  young  prince,  by  exaggerated 
descriptions,  strongly  drawn  and  deeply  colored,  of  the  pleasures 
and  gallantries  which  had  illustrated  the  reigns  of  Louis  XIV., 
the  Regent,  and  especially  Louis  XV.,  the  hero  of  Caesar  Poli- 
dori. He  assured  the  misled  boy,  who  listened  to  him  with  a 
fatal  earnestness,  that  pleasures,  however  excessive,  far  from  de- 
moralizing a  highly  accomplished  prince,  often  made  him  merci- 
ful and  generous,  inasmuch  as  fine  minds  are  never  more 
predisposed  to  benevolence  and  clemency  than  when  acted  upon 
by  their  own  enjoyments.  Louis  XV.  the  bien  dime,  the  well- 


218  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

beloved,  was  an  unanswerable  proof  of  this.  'And  then,  added 
the  Doctor,  how  entirely  have  the  greatest  men  of  all  ages  and 
all  countries  abandoned  themselves  to  the  most  refined  epicure- 
anism— from  Alcibiades  to  Maurice  of  Saxony,  from  Anthony 
to  the  great  Conde,  from  Caesar  to  Vendome !  Such  conversa- 
tions must  make  deep  and  dangerous  impressions  on  a  young, 
ardent,  and  virgin  mind,  and  such  theories  could  not  be  without 
their  results. 

In  the  midst  of  this  well  regulated  and  virtuous  court,  accus- 
tomed, after  the  example  of  its  ruler,  to  honest  pleasures  and 
harmless  amusements,  Kodolph,  instructed  by  Polidori,  dreamt 
of  the  dissipated  nights  of  Versailles,  the  orgies  of  Choisy,  the 
attractive  voluptuousness  of  the  Parc-au-Cerfs,  and  also,  from 
time  to  time,  of  some  romantic  amours  contrasting  with  these. 
Neither  had  the  Doctor  failed  to  prove  to  Rodolph  that  a  prince 
of  the  Germanic  Confederation  should  not  have  any  military 
pretension  beyond  sending  his  contingent  to  the  Diet.  The  feel- 
ing of  the  time  was  not  warlike.  According  to  the  Doctor,  to 
pass  his  time  delightfully  and  idly  amongst  women  and  the  re- 
finements of  luxury, — to  repose  from  time  to  time  from  the 
animation  of  sensual  pleasures,  amidst  the  delightful  attractions 
of  the  fine  arts, — to  hunt  occasionally,  not  as  a  Nimrod,  but  as 
an  intelligent  epicurean,  and  enjoy  the  transitory  fatigues  which 
make  idleness  and  repose  taste  but  the  sweeter, — this,  this  was 
the  only  life  which  a  prince  should  think  of  enjoying,  who  (and 
this  was  his  height  of  happiness)  could  find  a  prime  minister 
capable  of  devoting  himself  boldly  to  the  distressing  and  over- 
whelming burden  of  state  affairs. 

Rodolph,  in  abandoning  himself  to  ideas  which  were  free 
from  criminality,  because  they  did  not  spring  from  the  circle 
of  fatal  probabilities,  resolved  that  when  Providence  should  call 
to  himself  the  Grand  Duke,  his  father,  he  would  devote  him- 
self to  the  life  which  CaBsar  Polidori  had  painted  to  him  under 
such  brilliant  and  attractive  colors,  and  to  have  as  his  prime 
minister  one  whose  knowledge  and  understanding  he  admired, 
and  whose  blind  complaisance  he  fully  appreciated.  It  is  use- 
less to  say  that  the  young  prince  kept  the  most  perfect  silence 
upon  the  subject  of  those  pernicious  hopes  which  had  been  ex- 
cited within  him.  Knowing  that  the  heroes  of  the  Grand 
Duke's  admiration  were  Gustavus  Adolphus,  Charles  XII.,  and 
the  great  Frederic  (Maximilian  Rodolph  had  the  honor  of  be- 
longing to  the  royal  house  of  Brandenburg),  Rodolph  thought, 
reasonably  enough,  that  the  prince,  his  father,  who  professed  so 
profound  an  admiration  for  these  king-captains,  always  booted 


TOM  AND  SARAH.  219 

and  spurred,  continually  mounted  on  their  chargers,  and  engaged 
in  making  war,  would  consider  his  son  out  of  his  senses  if  he  be- 
lieved him  capable  of  wishing  to  displace  the  Tudescan  gravity 
of  his  court  by  the  introduction  of  the  light  and  licentious  man- 
ners of  th?  Regency. 

A  year — eighteen  months — passed  away.  At  the  end  of  this 
time  Murphy  returned  from  England,  and  wept  for  joy  on  again 
embracing  his  young  pupil.  After  a  few  days,  although  unable 
to  discover  the  reason  of  a  change  which  so  deeply  afflicted  him, 
the  worthy  squire  found  Rodolph  chilled  and  constrained  in  his 
demeanor  towards  him,  and  almost  rude  when  he  recalled  to 
him  his  sequestered  and  rural  life.  Assured  of  the  natural  kind 
heart  of  the  young  prince,  and  warned  by  a  secret  presentiment, 
Murphy  thought  him  for  a  time  perverted  by  the  pernicious  in- 
fluence of  Doctor  Polidori,  whom  he  instinctively  abhorred,  and 
resolved  to  watch  very  narrowly.  The  Doctor,  for  his  part, 
was  very  much  annoyed  by  Murphy's  return,  for  he  feared  his 
frankness,  good  sense,  and  keen  penetration.  He  instantly  re- 
solved, therefore,  cost  what  it  might,  to  ruin  the  worthy  Eng- 
lishman in  Rodolph's  estimation.  It  was  at  this  crisis  that 
Seyton  and  Sarah  were  presented  and  received  at  the  court  of 
Gerolstein  with  such  extreme  distinction.  We  have  said  that 
Rodolph,  accompanied  by  Murphy,  had  been  absent  from  the 
court  on  a  journey  for  some  weeks.  During  this  absence  the 
Doctor  was  by  no  means  idle.  It  is  said  that  intriguers  dis- 
cover and  recognize  each  other  by  certain  mysterious  signs, 
which  allow  of  them  observing  each  other  until  their  interests 
decide  them  to  form  a  close  alliance,  or  declare  unremitting 
hostility. 

Some  days  after  the  establishment  of  Sarah  and  her  brother 
at  the  court  of  the  Grand  Duke,  Polidori  became  a  close  ally  of 
Seyton's.  The  Doctor  confessed  to  himself,  with  delectable 
cynicism,  that  he  felt  a  natural  affinity  for  rogues  and  villains, 
and  so  he  said  that,  without  pretending  to  discover  the  end 
which  Sarah  and  her  brother  desired  to  achieve,  he  was  attracted 
towards  them  by  a  sympathy  so  strong,  as  to  lead  him  to  imagine 
that  they  plotted  some  devilish  purpose.  Some  questions  of 
Seyton's  as  to  the  disposition  and  early  life  of  Rodolph,  ques- 
tions which  would  have  passed  without  notice  with  a  person  less 
awake  to  all  that  occurred  than  the  Doctor,  in  a  moment  en- 
lightened him  as  to  the  ulterior  aims  of  the  brother  and  sister ; 
all  he  doubted  was,  that  the  aspirations  of  the  Scotch  lady  were 
at  the  same  time  honorable  as  well  as  ambitious.  The  arrival 
of  this  lovely  young  woman  appeared  to  Polidori  a  godsend. 


220  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

Eodolph's  mind  was  already  inflamed  with  amorous  imag- 
inings; Sarah  might  become,  or  be  made,  the  delicious  reality 
which  should  substantiate  so  many  glorious  dreams.  It  was  not 
to  be  doubted  but  that  she  would  secure  an  immense  influence 
over  a  heart  submitted  to  the  witching  spell  of  a  first-love.  The 
Doctor  instantly  laid  his  plan  to  direct  and  secure  this  influence, 
and  to  make  it  severe  also  as  the  means  of  destroying  Murphy's 
power  and  reputation.  Like  a  skilful  intriguer,  he  soon  in- 
formed the  aspiring  pair  that  they  must  come  to  an  understand- 
ing with  him,  as  he  alone  was  responsible  to  the  Grand  Duke  for 
the  private  life  of  the  young  prince. 

Sarah  and  her  brother  understood  him  in  a  moment,  although 
they  had  not  told  the  Doctor  a  syllable  of  their  secret  designs. 
On  the  return  of  Rodolph  and  Murphy,  all  three,  combined  by 
one  common  intent,  tacitly  leagued  against  the  squire,  their  most 
redoubtable  enemy. 


What  was  to  happen  did  happen.  Rodolph  saw  Sarah  daily 
after  his  return,  and  became  desperately  enamored.  She  soon 
told  him  that  she  shared  his  love,  although  she  foresaw  that  this 
love  would  create  great  trouble.  He  could  never  be  happy;  the 
distance  that  separated  them  was  too  wide!  She  then  recom- 
mended to  Rodolph  the  most  profound  discretion,  for  fear  of 
arousing  the  Grand  Duke's  suspicions,  as  he  would  be  inexorable, 
and  deprive  them  of  their  only  happiness — that  of  seeing  each 
other  every  day.  The  young  prince  promised  to  be  cautious,  and 
conceal  his  love.  The  Scotch  maiden  was  too  ambitious,  too 
self-possessed,  to  compromise  and  betray  herself  in  the  eyes  of 
the  court;  and  Rodolph,  perceiving  the  necessity  of  dissimula- 
tion, imitated  Sarah's  prudence.  The  lovers'  secret  was  care- 
fully preserved  for  some  time;  nor  was  it  until  the  brother  and 
sister  saw  the  unbridled  passion  of  their  dupe  reach  its  utmost 
excess,  and  that  his  infatuation,  which  he  could  hardly  restrain, 
threatened  to  burst  forth  afresh,  and  destroy  all,  that  they  re- 
solved on  their  final  coup.  The  Doctor's  character,  authorizing 
the  confidence,  besides  the  morality  which  invested  it,  Seyton 
opened  to  him  on  the  necessity  of  a  marriage  between  Rodolph 
and  Sarah,  otherwise,  he  added,  with  perfect  sincerity,  he  and 
his  sister  would  instantly  leave  Gerolstein.  Sarah  participated 
in  the  prince's  affection,  but,  preferring  death  to  dishonor,  she 
could  only  be  the  wife  of  his  highness. 

This  exalted  flight  of  ambition  stupefied  the  Doctor,  who  had 


TOM  AND  SARAH.  221 

never  imagined  that  Sarah's  imagination  soared  so  high.  A 
marriage  surrounded  by  numberless  difficulties  and  dangers  ap- 
peared impossible  to  Polidori,  and  he  frankly  told  Seyton  the 
reasons  why  the  Grand  Duke  would  never  submit  to  such  a 
union.  Seyton  agreed  in  the  importance  of  the  reasons,  but 
proposed,  as  a  mezzo  termini  which  should  meet  all  objections, 
a  marriage,  which,  although  secret,  should  be  legal,  and  only 
avowed  after  the  decease  of  the  Grand  Duke.  Sarah  was  of  a 
noble  and  ancient  house,  and  such  a  union  was  not  without 
precedent.  Seyton  gave  the  prince  eight  days  to  decide;  his 
sister  could  not  longer  endure  the  cruel  anguish  of  uncertainty, 
and,  if  she  must  renounce  Rodolph's  love,  she  must  act  up  to  her 
painful  resolve  as  promptly  as  might  be. 

Certain  that  he  could  not  mistake  Sarah's  views,  the  Doctor 
was  sorely  perplexed.  He  had  three  ways  before  him,— to  in- 
form the  Grand  Duke  of  the  matrimonial  project,  to  open 
Eodolph's  eyes  as  to  the  maneuvers  of  Tom  and  Sarah,  to  lend 
himself  to  the  marriage.  But  to  inform  the  Grand  Duke  would 
be  to  alienate  from  him  forever  the  heir  presumptive  to  the 
throne.  To  enlighten  Eodolph  on  the  interested  views  of  Sarah 
was  to  expose  himself  to  the  reception  which  a  lover  is  sure  to 
give  when  she  whom  he  loves  is  depreciated  in  his  eyes;  and 
then,  what  a  blow  for  the  vanity  or  the  heart  of  the  young 
prince,  to  let  him  know  that  it  was  for  his  royal  rank  alone  that 
the  lady  was  desirous  to  wed  him !  On  the  other  hand,  by  lend- 
ing himself  to  this  match,  Polidori  bound  Eodolph  and  Sarah 
to  him  by  a  tie  of  the  strongest  gratitude,  or,  at  least,  by  the 
complicity  of  a  dangerous  act.  No  doubt,  all  might  be  dis- 
covered, and  the  Doctor  exposed  to  the  anger  of  the  Grand 
Duke,  but  then  the  marriage  would  have  been  concluded,  the 
union  legal.  The  storm  would  blow  over,  and  the  future 
sovereign  of  Gerolstein  would  become  the  more  bound  to 
Polidori,  in  proportion  as  the  Doctor  had  undergone  greater 
dangers  in  his  service.  After  much  consideration,  therefore,  he 
resolved  on  serving  Sarah,  but  with  a  certain  qualification,  which 
we  will  presently  refer  to. 

Eodolph's  passion  had  reached  a  height  almost  of  frenzy. 
Violently  excited  by  constraint,  and  the  skilful  management  of 
Sarah,  who  pretended  to  feel  still  more  than  he  did  the  insur- 
mountable obstacles  which  honor  and  duty  placed  between  them 
and  their  liberty,  in  a  few  days  more  the  young  prince  would 
have  betrayed  himself.  Thus,  when  the  Doctor  proposed  that 
he  must  never  see  his  enchantress  again,  or  possess  her  by  a 
secret  marriage,  Eodolph  threw  himself  on  Polidori's  neck, 


222  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

called  him  his  saviour,  his  friend,  his  father;  he  only  wished 
that  the  temple  and  the  priest  were  at  hand,  that  he  might 
marry  her  that  instant.  The  Doctor  resolved  (for  reasons  of 
his  own)  to  undertake  the  management  of  all.  He  found  a 
priest — witnesses;  and  the  union  (all  the  formalities  of  which 
were  carefully  scrutinized  and  verified  by  Seyton)  was  secretly 
celebrated  during  a  temporary  absence  of  the  Grand  Duke  at  a 
conference  of  the  Germanic  Diet.  The  prophecy  of  the  Scotch 
soothsayer  was  fulfilled — Sarah  wedded  the  heir  to  a  throne. 

Without  quenching  the  fire  of  his  love,  possession  rendered 
Kodolph  more  circumspect,  and  cooled  down  that  violence  which 
might  have  compromised  the  secret  of  his  passion  for  Sarah; 
but,  directed  by  Seyton  and  the  Doctor,  the  young  couple  man- 
aged so  well,  and  observed  so  much  circumspection  towards  each 
other,  that  they  eluded  all  detection. 

An  event,  impatiently  desired  by  Sarah,  soon  turned  this  calm 
into  a  tempest — she  was  about  to  become  a  mother.  It  was  then 
that  this  woman  evinced  all  those  exactions  which  were  so  new 
to,  and  so  much  astonished,  Rodolph.  She  protested,  with 
hypocritical  tears  streaming  from  her  eyes,  that  she  could  no 
longer  support  the  constraint  in  which  she  lived;  a  constraint 
rendered  the  more  insupportable  by  her  pregnancy.  In  this 
extremity  she  boldly  proposed  to  the  young  prince  to  tell  all  to 
his  father,  who  was,  as  well  as  the  Dowager  Grand  Duchess, 
fonder  than  ever  of  her.  No  doubt,  she  added,  he  will  be  very 
angry,  greatly  enraged,  at  first,  but  he  loves  his  son  so  tenderly, 
so  blindly,  and  had  for  her  (Sarah)  so  strong  an  affection,  that 
his  paternal  anger  would  gradually  subside,  and  she  would  at 
last  take  in  the  court  of  Gerolstein  the  rank  which  was  due  to 
her,  she  might  say  in  a  double  sense,  because  she  was  about  to 
give  birth  to  a  child,  which  would  be  the  heir  presumptive  to 
the  Grand  Duke.  These  pretensions  alarmed  Eodolph :  he  knew 
the  deep  attachment  which  his  father  had  for  him,  but  he  also 
well  knew  the  inflexibility  of  his  principles  with  regard  to  all 
the  duties  of  a  prince.  To  all  these  objections  Sarah  replied, 
unmoved, — 

"  I  am  your  wife,  in  the  presence  of  God  and  men.  In  a  short 
time,  I  shall  no  longer  be  able  to  conceal  my  situation;  and  I 
ought  not  to  blush  at  that  of  which  I  am,  on  the  contrary,  so 
proud,  and  would  desire  openly  to  acknowledge," 

The  expectation  of  posterity  had  redoubled  Rodolph's  tender- 
ness for  Sarah,  and,  placed  between  the  desire  to  accede  to  her 
wishes  and  the  dread  of  his  father's  wrath,  he  experienced  the 
bitterest  anguish.  Seyton  sided  with  his  sister. 


TO M  AND  SARAH.  223 

"  The  marriage  is  indissoluble/'  said  he  to  his  royal  brother- 
in-law;  "the  Grand  Duke  may  exile  you  from  his  court — you 
and  your  wife,  nothing  more ;  but  he  loves  you  too  much  to  have 
recourse  to  such  an  extremity.  He  will  endure  what  he  cannot 
prevent." 

These  reasons,  strong  enough  in  themselves,  did  not  soothe 
Rodolph's  anxieties.  At  this  juncture,  Seyton  was  charged  by 
the  Grand  Duke  with  an  errand  to  visit  several  breeding  studs 
in  Austria.  This  mission,  which  he  could  not  refuse,  would 
only  detain  him  about  a  fortnight :  he  set  out  with  much  regret, 
and  in  a  very  important  moment  for  his  sister.  She  was 
chagrined,  yet  satisfied,  at  the  departure  of  her  brother,  for  she 
would  lose  his  advice;  but  then  he  would  be  safe  from  the 
Grand  Duke's  anger  if  all  were  discovered.  Sarah  promised  to 
keep  Seyton  fully  informed,  day  by  day,  of  the  progress  of 
events,  so  important  to  both  of  them ;  and,  that  they  might  cor- 
respond more  surely  and  secretly,  they  agreed  upon  a  cipher,  of 
which  Polidori  also  held  the  key.  This  precaution  alone  proves 
that  Sarah  had  other  matters  to  tell  her  brother  of  besides  her 
love  for  Rodolph.  In  truth,  this  selfish,  cold,  ambitious  woman 
had  not  felt  the  ice  of  her  heart  melt  even  by  the  beams  of  the 
passionate  love  which  had  been  breathed  to  her.  Her  maternity 
was  only  with  her  a  means  of  acting  more  effectually  on 
Rodolph,  and  had  no  softening  effect  on  her  iron  soul.  The 
youth,  headlong  love,  and  inexperience  of  the  prince,  who  was 
hardly  more  than  a  child,  and  so  perfidiously  ensnared  into  an 
inextricable  position,  hardly  excited  an  interest  in  the  mind  of 
this  selfish  creature;  and,  in  her  confidential  communications 
with  him,  she  complained,  with  disdain  and  bitterness,  of  the 
weakness  of  this  young  man,  who  trembled  before  the  most 
paternal  of  German  princes,  who  lived,  however,  very  long!  In 
a  word,  this  correspondence  between  the  brother  and  sister 
clearly  developed  their  unbounded  selfishness,  their  ambitious 
calculations,  their  impatience,  which  almost  amounted  to  homi- 
cide, and  laid  bare  the  springs  of  that  dark  conspiracy  crowned 
by  the  marriage  of  Rodolph.  One  of  Sarah's  letters  to  her 
brother  was  abstracted  by  Polidori,  the  channel  of  their  mutual 
communications ;  for  what  purpose,  we  shall  see  hereafter. 

A  few  days  after  Sey  ton's  departure,  Sarah  was  at  the  evening 
court  of  the  Dowager  Grand  Duchess.  Many  of  the  ladies  pres- 
ent looked  at  her  with  an  astonished  air,  and  whispered  to  their 
neighbors.  The  Grand  Duchess  Judith,  in  spite  of  her  ninety 
years,  had  a  quick  ear  and  a  sharp  eye,  and  this  little  whisper- 
ing did  not  escape  her.  She  made  a  sign  to  one  of  the  ladies  in 


224  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

waiting  to  come  to  her,  and  from  her  she  learned  that  every- 
body was  remarking  that  the  figure  of  Miss  Sarah  Seyton  of 
Halsbury  was  less  slender,  less  delicate  in  its  proportions,  than 
usual.  The  old  princess  adored  her  young  protegee,  and  would 
have  answered  to  God  himself  for  Sarah's  virtue.  Indignant 
at  the  malevolence  of  these  remarks,  she  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
and  said  aloud,  from  the  end  of  the  saloon  in  which  she  was 
sitting, — 

"  My  dear  Sarah,  come  here." 

Sarah  rose.  It  was  requisite  to  cross  the  circle  to  reach  the 
place  where  the  princess  was  seated,  who  was  anxious  most 
kindly  to  destroy  the  rumor  that  was  circulated,  and,  by  the 
simple  fact  of  thus  crossing  the  room,  confound  her  calumni- 
ators, and  prove  triumphantly  that  the  fair  proportions  of  her 
protegee  had  lost  not  one  jot  of  their  symmetry  and  delicacy. 
Alas !  the  most  perfidious  enemy  could  not  have  devised  a  better 
plan  than  that  suggested  by  the  worthy  princess  in  her  desire 
to  defend  her  protegee.  Sarah  came  towards  her,  and  it  re- 
quired all  the  deep  respect  due  to  the  Grand  Duchess  to  repress 
the  murmur  of  surprise  and  indignation  when  the  young  lady 
crossed  the  room.  The  nearest-sighted  persons  saw  what  Sarah 
would  no  longer  conceal,  for  her  pregnancy  might  have  been 
hidden  longer  had  she  but  have  chosen;  but  the  ambitious 
woman  had  sought  this  display  in  order  to  compel  Rodolph  to 
declare  his  marriage.  The  Grand  Duchess,  who,  however,  would 
not  be  convinced  in  spite  of  her  eyesight,  said,  in  a  low  voice,  to 
Sarah, — 

"  My  dear  child,  how  very  ill  you  have  dressed  yourself  to-day 
— you  whose  shape  may  be  spanned  by  ten  fingers.  I  hardly 
know  you  again." 

We  will  relate  hereafter  the  results  of  this  discovery,  which 
led  to  great  and  terrible  events.  At  this  moment,  we  will  con- 
tent ourselves  with  stating,  what  the  reader  has  no  doubt  al- 
ready guessed,  that  Fleur-de-Marie  was  the  fruit  of  the  secret 
marriage  of  Rodolph  and  Sarah,  and  that  they  both  believed 
their  daughter  dead. 

It  has  not  been  forgotten  that  Rodolph,  after  having  visited 
the  house  in  the  Rue  du  Temple,  had  returned  home,  and  in- 
tended, in  the  evening,  to  be  present  at  a  ball  given  by  the 

ambassadress.  It  was  to  this  fete  that  we  shall  follow  his  royal 
highness  the  reigning  Grand  Duke  of  Gerolstein,  GUSTAVDS 
RODOLPH,  traveling  in  France  under  the  name  of  the  Count  de 
Duren. 


THE  BALL.  225 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  BALL. 

As  the  eleventh  hour  of  the  night  sounded  from  the  different 
clocks  in  Paris,  the  gates  of  an  hotel  in  the  Rue  Pluraet  were 
thrown  open  by  a  Swiss  in  rich  livery,  and  forthwith  issued  a 
magnificent  dark  blue  Berlin  carriage,  drawn  by  two  superb 
long-tailed  gray  horses;  on  the  seat,  which  was  covered  by  a 
rich  hammercloth,  trimmed  with  a  mossy  silk  fringe,  sat  a 
portly-looking  coachman,  whose  head  was  ornamented  by  a  three- 
cornered  hat,  while  his  rotund  figure  looked  still  more  impos- 
ing in  his  dress  livery-coat  of  blue  cloth,  trimmed  up  the  seams 
with  silver  lace,  and  thickly  braided  with  the  same  material: 
the  whole  finished  by  a  splendid  sable  collar  and  cuffs.  Behind 
the  carriage  stood  a  tall  powdered  lackey,  dressed  in  a  livery  of 
blue  turned  up  with  yellow'and  silver;  and  by  his  side  was  a 
chasseur,  whose  fierce-looking  mustaches,  gaily  embroidered 
dress  and  hat,  half  concealed  by  a  waving  plume  of  blue  and 
yellow  feathers,  completed  a  most  imposing  coup-d'ceil. 

The  bright  light  of  the  lamps  revealed  the  costly  satin  lining 
of  the  interior  of  the  vehicle  we  are  describing,  in  which  were 
seated  Rodolph,  having  on  his  right  hand  the  Baron  de  Graiin, 
and  opposite  to  him  the  faithful  Murphy. 

Out  of  deference  for  the  sovereign  represented  by  the  am- 
bassador to  whose  ball  he  was  then  proceeding,  Rodolph  wore  no 
other  mark  of  distinction  than  the  diamond  order  of  *  *  *  * 

Round  the  neck  of  Sir  Walter  Murphy,  and  suspended  by  a 
broad  orange  ribbon,  hung  the  enameled  cross  of  the  grand 
commander  of  the  Golden  Eagle  of  Gerolstein;  and  a  similar 
insignia  decorated  the  Baron  de  Graiin,  amidst  an  infinite  num- 
ber of  the  crosses  and  badges  of  honor  belonging  to  all  countries, 
depending  by  a  gold  chain  placed  in  the  two  full  button-holes 
of  the  diplomatist's  coat. 

"I  am  delighted,"  said  Rodolph,  "with  the  very  favorable 
accounts  I  have  received  from  Madame  Georges  respecting  my 
poor  little  protegee  at  the  farm  of  Bouqueval.  David's  care 
and  attention  have  worked  wonders.  Apropos  of  La  Goualeuse: 
what  do  you  think,  Sir  Walter  Murphy,  any  of  your  Cite  ac- 
quaintances would  say  at  seeing  you  so  strangely  disguised,  as 
at  present  they  would  consider  you,  most  valiant  charcoal-man, 
to  be  ?  they  would  be  somewhat  astonished,  I  fancy." 


226  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Much  in  the  same  degree  as  the  surprise  your  royal  highness 
would  excite  among  your  new  acquaintances  in  the  Rue  du 
Temple,  were  you  to  proceed  thither,  as  now  attired,  to  pay  a 
friendly  visit  to  Madame  Pipelet,  and  to  inquire  after  the  health 
of  Cabrion's  victim,  the  poor  melancholy  Alfred ! " 

"  My  lord  has  drawn  so  lively  a  sketch  of  Alfred,  attired  in 
his  long-skirted  green  coat  and  bell-crowned  hat,"  said  the 
baron,  "  that  I  can  well  imagine  him  seated  in  magisterial 
dignity  in  his  dark  and  smoky  lodge.  Let  me  hope  that  your 
royal  highness's  visit  to  the  Eue  du  Temple  has  fully  answered 
your  expectations,  and  that  you  are  in  every  way  satisfied  with 
the  researches  of  my  agent  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  so,"  answered  Rodolph.  "  My  success  was  even 
beyond  my  expectations." 

Then,  after  a  moment's  painful  silence,  and  to  drive  away  the 
train  of  thought  conjured  up  by  the  recollection  of  the  probable 
guilt  of  Madame  d'Harville,  he  resumed,  in  a  tone  more  gay, — 

"  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  own  to  so  much  childishness,  but 
I  confess  myself  amused  with  the  contrast  between  my  treating 
Madame  Pipelet  in  the  morning  to  a  glass  of  cordial,  and  then 
proceeding  in  the  evening  to  a  grand  fete,  with  all  the  pomp 
and  prestige  of  one  of  those  privileged  beings  who,  by  the  grace 
of  God,  '  reign  over  this  lower  world.  Some  men  of  small 
fortune  would  speak  of  my  revenues  as  those  of  a  miUionnaire," 
added  Rodolph,  in  a  sort  of  parenthesis,  alluding  to  the  limited 
extent  of  his  estates. 

"  And  many  millionnaires,  my  lord,  might  not  have  the  rare, 
the  admirable  good  sense,  of  the  man  of  narrow  means." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  De  Graiin,  you  are  really  too  good,  much  too 
good !  you  really  overwhelm  me,"  replied  Rodolph,  with  an 
ironical  smile,  while  the  baron  glanced  at  Murphy  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  man  who  had  just  discovered  he  has  been  saying 
a  foolish  thing. 

"  Really,  my  dear  De  Graiin,"  resumed  Rodolph,  "  I  know  not 
how  to  acknowledge  the  weight  of  your  compliment,  or  how  to 
repay  such  delicate  flattery  in  its  own  way." 

"  My  lord,  let  me  entreat  of  you  not  to  take  the  trouble,"  ex- 
claimed the  baron,  who  had  for  the  instant  forgotten  that 
Rodolph,  who  detested  every  species  of  flattery,  always  revenged 
himself  by  the  most  unsparing  raillery  on  those  who,  directly 
or  indirectly,  addressed  it  to  him. 

"  Nay,  baron,  I  cannot  allow  myself  to  remain  in  your  debt. 
You  have  praised  my  understanding — I  will,  in  return,  admire 
your  countenance;  for  by  my  honor,  as  I  sit  beside  you,  you 


THE  BALL.  227 

look  like  a  youth  of  twenty.  Antinoiis  himself  could  not  boast 
of  finer  features,  or  a  more  captivating  expression." 

"  My  lord  !  my  lord !  I  cry  your  mercy !  " 

"  Behold  him,  Murphy,  and  say  whether  Apollo  could  display 
more  graceful  limbs,  more  light,  and  youthful  proportions ! " 

"  I  beseech  you,  my  lord,  to  pardon  me,  from  the  recollection 
of  how  long  it  is  since  I  have  permitted  myself  to  utter  the 
slightest  compliment  to  your  royal  highness/' 

"  Observe,  Murphy,  this  band  of  gold  which  restrains,  with- 
out concealing,  the  locks  of  rich  black  hair  flowing  over  this 
graceful  neck,  and " 

"  My  lord !  my  lord !  for  pity's  sake  spare  me !  I  repent, 
most  sincerely,  of  my  involuntary  fault,"  said  the  unfortunate 
baron,  with  an  expression  of  comic  despair  on  his  countenance 
truly  ludicrous. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  original  of  this  glowing 
picture  was  at  least  fifty  years  of  age;  his  hair  gray,  frizzled 
and  powdered ;  a  stiff,  white  cravat  round  his  throat ;  a  pale, 
withered  countenance;  and  golden  spectacles  upon  the  horny 
bridge  of  his  sharp,  projecting  nose. 

"Pardon,  my  lord!  pardon,  for  the  baron,"  exclaimed  the 
squire,  laughing.  "I  beseech  you  not  to  overwhelm  him  be- 
neath the  weight  of  your  mythological  allusions.  I  will  be  an- 
swerable to  your  royal  highness  that  my  unlucky  friend  here 
will  never  again  venture  to  utter  a  flattery,  since  so  truth  is 
translated  in  the  new  vocabulary  of  Gerolstein." 

"  What !  old  Murphy,  too  ?  *  Are  you  going  to  join  in  the 
rebellion  against  sincerity  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  I  am  so  sorry  for  the  position  of  my  unfortunate 
vis-a-vis,  that 1  beg  I  may  divide  his  punishment  with  him." 

"  Charcoal-man  in  ordinary,  your  disinterested  friendship 
does  you  honor.  But  seriously  now,  my  dear  De  Graiin,  how 
have  you  forgotten  that  I  only  allow  such  fellows  as  D'Harneim 
and  his  train  to  flatter,  for  the  simple  reason  that  they  know 
not  how  to  speak  the  truth?  That  cuckoo-note  of  false  praise 
belongs  to  birds  of  such  feather  as  themselves,  and  the  species, 
they  claim  relationship  with ;  but  for  a  person  of  your  mind  and 
good  taste  to  descend  to  its  usage oh,  fie !  baron,  fie ! " 

"  It  is  all  very  well,  my  lord,"  said  the  baron,  sturdily ;  "  but 
I  must  be  allowed  to  say  (with  all  due  apology  for  my  boldness), 
that  there  is  no  small  portion  of  pride  in  your  royal  highness's 
aversion  to  receive  even  a  just  compliment." 

"  Well  said,  baron !  Come,  I  like  you  better  now  you  speak 
plain  truths.  But  tell  me  how  you  prove  your  assertion?" 


228  TUB  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Why,  just  so,  my  lord :  because  you  repudiate  it  upon  the 
same  principle  that  might  induce  a  beautiful  woman,  well  aware 
of  her  charms,  to  say  to  one  of  her  most  enthusiastic  admirers, 
*  I  know  perfectly  well  how  handsome  I  am,  and  therefore  your 
approval  is  perfectly  uncalled  for  and  unnecessary.  What  is 
the  use  of  reiterating  what  everybody  knows?  Is  it  usual  to 
proclaim  in  the  open  streets  that  the  sun  shines,  when  all  may 
see  and  feel  certain  of  his  midday  brightness  ?  "; 

"  Now,  baron,  you  are  shifting  your  ground,  and  becoming 
more  dangerous  as  you  become  more  abroit ;  and,  by  way  of  vary- 
ing your  punishment,  I  will  only  say  that  the  infernal  Polidori 
himself  could  not  have  more  ingeniously  disguised  the  poisonous 
draught  of  flattery,  when  seeking  to  persuade  some  poor  victim 
to  swallow  it." 

"  My  lord,  I  am  now  effectually  silenced." 

"  Then,"  said  Murphy  (and  this  time  with  an  air  of  real 
seriousness),  "your  royal  highness  has  now  no  doubt  as  to  its 
being  really  Polidori  you  encountered  in  the  Eue  du  Temple  ?  " 

"  I  have  ceased  to  have  the  least  doubt  on  the  subject,  since  I 
learned  through  you  that  he  had  been  in  Paris  for  some  time 
past." 

"  I  had  forgotten,  or,  rather,  purposely  omitted  to  mention 
to  your  lordship,"  said  Murphy  in  a  sorrowing  tone,  "  a  name 
that  never  failed  to  awaken  painful  feelings;  and  knowing  as  I 
do  how  justly  odious  the  remembrance  of  this  man  was  to  your 
royal  highness,  I  studiously  abstained  from  all  reference  to  it." 

The  features  of  Rodolph  were  again  overshadowed  with  gloom, 
and,  plunged  in  a  deep  reverie,  he  continued  to  preserve  unbroken 
the  silence  which  prevailed  until  the  carriage  stopped  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  embassy.  The  windows  of  the  hotel  were 
blazing  with  a  thousand  lights,  which  shone  brightly  through  the 
thick  darkness  of  the  night,  while  a  crowd  of  lackeys,  in  full- 
dress  liveries,  lined  the  entrance-hall,  extending  even  to  the 
saloons  of  reception,  where  the  grooms  of  the  chamber  waited  to 
announce  the  different  arrivals. 

M.  le  Comte  *  *  *  *,  the  ambassador,  with  his  lady,  had 
purposely  remained  in  the  first  reception-room  until  the  arrival 
of  Rodolph,  who  now  entered,  followed  by  Murphy  and  M.  de 
Graiin. 

Rodolph  was  then  in  his  thirty-sixth  year,  in  the  very  prime 
and  perfection  of  manly  health  and  strength.  His  regular  and 
handsome  features,  with  the  air  of  dignity  pervading  his  whole 
appearance,  would  have  rendered  him,  under  any  circumstances, 
a  strikingly  attractive  man;  but,  combined  with  the  eclat  of  high 


THE  BALL.  229 

birth  and  exalted  rank,  he  was  a  person  of  first-rate  importance 
in  every  circle  in  which  he  presented  himself,  and  whose 
notice  was  assiduously  sought  for.  Dressed  with  the  utmost 
simplicity,  Rodolph  wore  a  white  waistcoat  and  cravat;  a  blue 
coat,  buttoned  up  closely,  on  the  right  breast  of  which  sparkled 
a  diamond  star,  displayed  to  admiration  the  light  yet  perfect 
proportions  of  his  graceful  figure,  while  his  well-fitting  pan- 
taloons, of  black  kerseymere,  defined  the  finely  formed  leg  and 
handsome  foot  in  its  embroidered  stocking. 

From  the  rareness  of  the  Grand  Duke's  visits  to  the  haut 
monde,  his  arrival  produced  a  great  sensation,  and  every  eye  was 
fixed  upon  him  from  the  moment  that,  attended  by  Murphy  and 
Baron  de  Graiin,  he  entered  the  first  salon  at  the  embassy.  An 
attache,  deputed  to  watch  for  his  arrival,  hastened  immediately 
to  apprise  the  ambassadress  of  the  appearance  of  her  illustrious 
guest.  Her  excellency  instantly  hurried,  with  her  noble  hus- 
band, to  welcome  their  visitor,  exclaiming, — 

"  Your  royal  highness  is,  indeed,  kind,  thus  to  honor  our  poor 
entertainment." 

"  Nay,  madam,"  replied  Rodolph,  gracefully  bowing  on  the 
hand  extended  to  him,  "your  ladyship  is  well  aware  of  the 
sincere  pleasure  it  affords  to  pay  my  compliments  to  yourself; 
and  as  for  M.  le  Comte,  he  and  I  are  two  old  friends,  who  are 
always  delighted  to  meet.  Are  we  not,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  Your  royal  highness,  in  deigning  to  continue  to  me  so 
flattering  a  place  in  your  recollection,  makes  it  still  more  impos- 
sible for  me  ever  to  forget  your  many  acts  of  condescending  kind- 
ness." 

"  I  assure  you,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  that  in  my  memory  the 
past  never  dies ;  or,  at  least,  the  pleasant  part  of  it ;  for  I  make 
it  a  strict  rule  never  to  preserve  any  reminiscences  of  my  friends 
but  such  as  are  agreeable  and  gratifying." 

"  Your  royal  highness  has  found  the  secret  of  being  happy  in 
your  thoughts,  and  rendering  others  so  at  the  same  time," 
rejoined  the  ambassador,  smiling  with  gratified  pride  and 
pleasure  at  a  conference  so  cordially  carried  on  before  a  gather- 
ing crowd  of  admiring  auditors. 

"  Thus,  then,  madame,"  replied  Rodolph,  "  will  your  flattering 
reception  of  to-night  live  long  in  my  memory;  and  I  shall 
promise  myself  the  happiness  of  recalling  this  evening's  fete, 
with  its  tasteful  arrangements  and  crowd  of  attending  beauties. 
Ah,  Madame  la  Comtesse,  who  like  you  can  effect  such  a  union 
of  taste  and  elegance  as  now  sparkles  around  us  ?  " 

"  Your  royal  highness  is  too  indulgent." 


230  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  But  I  have  a  very  important  question  to  ask  you :  Why  is  it 
that,  lovely  as  are  your  fair  guests,  their  charms  are  never  seen 
to  such  perfection  as  when  assembled  beneath  your  hospitable 
roof?" 

"Your  royal  highness  is  pleased  to  view  our  fair  visitants 
through  the  same  flattering  medium  with  which  you  are 
graciously  pleased  to  behold  our  poor  endeavors  for  your  and 
their  amusement,"  answered  the  ambassador,  with  a  deferential 
bow. 

"  Your  pardon,  count,"  replied  Rodolph,  "  if  I  differ  with 
you  in  opinion.  According  to  my  judgment,  the  cause  proceeds 
wholly  from  our  amiable  hostess,  Madame  1'Ambassadrice." 

"  May  I  request  of  your  royal  highness  to  solve  this  enigma  ?  " 
inquired  the  countess,  smilingly. 

"  That  is  easily  given,  madame,  and  may  be  found  in  the 
perfect  urbanity  and  exquisite  grace  with  which  you  receive  your 
lovely  guests,  and  whisper  to  each  a  few  charming  and  encourag- 
ing words,  which,  if  the  least  bit  exceeding  strict  truth,"  said 
Eodolph,  smiling  with  good-tempered  satire,  "  renders  those  who 
are  even  praised  above  their  merits  more  radiant  in  beauty 
from  your  kind  commendations,  while  those  whose  charms  admit 
of  no  exaggeration  are  no  less  radiant  with  the  happiness  of 
finding  themselves  so  justly  appreciated  by  you :  thus  each 
countenance,  thanks  to  the  gentle  arts  you  practise,  is  made 
to  exhibit  the  most  smiling  delight,  for  perfect  content  will  set 
off  even  homely  features.  And  thus  I  account  for  why  it  is 
that  woman,  all  lovely  as  she  is,  never  looks  so  much  so  as  when 
seen  beneath  your  roof.  Come,  M.  1'Ambassadeur,  own  that  I 
have  made  out  a  good  case,  and  that  you  entirely  concur  with 
me  in  opinion." 

"  Your  royal  highness  has  afforded  me  too  many  previous 
reasons  to  admire  and  adopt  your  opinions  for  me  to  hesitate 
in  the  present  instance." 

"And  for  me,  my  lord,"  said  the  countess,  "at  the  risk  of 
being  included  among  those  fair  ladies  who  get  a  little  more 
praise  or  flattery  (which  was  it  your  highness  styled  it?)  than 
they  deserve,  I  accept  your  very  flattering  explanation  with  as 
much  qualified  pleasure  as  if  it  were  really  founded  on  truth." 

"  In  order  more  effectually  to  convince  you,  madame,  that 
nothing  is  more  correct  than  all  I  have  asserted,  let  us  make 
a  few  observations  touching  the  fine  effect  of  praise  in  animating 
and  lighting  up  the  countenance." 

"  Ah !  my  lord,  you  are  laying  a  very  mischievous  snare  for 
me/'  said  the  countess,  smiling. 


THE  BALL.  231 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  abandon  that  idea ;  but  upon  one  condition, 
that  you  honor  me  by  taking  my  arm.  I  have  been  told  wonder- 
ful things  of  a  '  Winter  Garden  ' — a  work  from  Fairyland.  May 
I  put  up  my  humble  petition  to  be  allowed  to  see  this  new 
wonder  of  a  'hundred  and  one  nights? ": 

"  Oh,  my  lord,  with  the  utmost  pleasure.  But  I  see  that 
your  highness  had  received  a  most  exaggerated  account. 
Perhaps  you  will  accompany  me,  and  judge  for  yourself.  Only 
in  this  instance  I  would  fain  hope  that  your  habitual  indulgence 
may  induce  you  to  feel  as  little  disappointment  as  possible  at 
finding  how  imperfectly  the  reality  equals  your  expectations." 

The  ambassadress  then  took  the  offered  arm  of  Rodolph,  and 
proceeded  with  him  to  the  other  salons,  while  the  count  remained 
conversing  with  the  Baron  de  Graiin  and  Murphy,  whom  he  had 
been  acquainted  with  for  some  time. 

And  a  more  beautiful  scene  of  enchantment  never  charmed 
the  eye  than  that  presented  by  the  aspect  of  the  winter  garden, 
to  which  Rodolph  had  conducted  his  noble  hostess.  Let  the 
reader  imagine  an  enclosure  of  about  forty  feet  in  length,  and 
thirty  in  width  (leading  out  of  a  long  and  splendid  gallery), 
surmounted  by  a  glazed  and  vaulted  roof,  the  building  being 
securely  covered  in  for  about  fifty  feet.  Round  the  parallelogram 
it  described,  the  walls  were  concealed  by  an  infinite  number  of 
mirrors,  over  which  was  placed  a  small  and  delicate  trellis  of 
fine  green  rushes,  which,  thanks  to  the  strong  light  reflected  on 
the  highly  polished  glass,  resembled  an  arbor,  and  were  almost 
entirely  hidden  by  a  thick  row  of  orange-trees,  as  large  as  those 
of  the  Tuileries,  mixed  with  camelias  of  equal  size;  while  the 
golden  fruit  and  verdant  foliage  of  the  one  contrasted  beautifully 
with  the  rich  clusters  of  waxen  flowers,  of  all  colors,  with  which 
the  other  was  loaded.  The  remainder  of  the  garden  was  thus 
devised : 

Five  or  six  enormous  clumps  of  trees,  and  Indian  or  other 
tropical  shrubs,  planted  in  immense  cases  filled  with  peat  earth, 
were  surrounded  by  alleys  paved  with  a  mosaic  shell-work,  and 
sufficiently  wide  for  two  or  three  persons  to  walk  abreast.  It 
is  impossible  to  describe  the  wondrous  effect  produced  by  this 
rich  display  of  tropical  vegetation  in  the  midst  of  a  European 
winter,  and  almost  in  the  very  center  of  a  ballroom.  Here 
might  be  seen  gigantic  bananas  stretching  their  tall  arms  to  the 
glass  roof  which  covered  them,  and  blending  the  vivid  green  of 
their  palms  with  the  lanceolated  leaves  of  the  large  magnolias 
some  of  which  already  displayed  their  matchless  and  odoriferous 
flowers  with  their  bell-shaped  calices,  purple  without  and  silvery 


232  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

white  within,  from  which  started  -forth  the  little  gold-threaded 
stamens.  At  a  little  distance  were  grouped  the  palm  and  date- 
trees  of  the  Levant :  the  red  macaw,  and  fig-trees  from  India ;  all 
blooming  in  full  health  and  vigor,  and  displaying  their  foliage 
in  all  its  luxuriance,  gave  to  the  tout  ensemble  a  mass  of  rich, 
brilliant  tropical  verdure,  which,  glittering  among  the  thousand 
lights,  sparkled  with  the  colors  of  the  emerald. 

Along  the  trellising,  between  the  orange-trees,  and  amid  the 
clumps,  were  trained  every  variety  of  rare  climbing  plants: 
sometimes  hanging  their  long  wreaths  of  leaves  and  flowers  in 
graceful  festoons,  then  depending  like  blooming  serpents  from 
the  tall  boughs — now  trailing  at  their  -roots — then  ambitiously 
scaling  the  very  walls,  till  they  hung  their  united  tresses  round 
the  transparent  and  vaulted  roof — from  which  again  they  floated 
in  mingled  masses,  waving  in  the  pure  light  breeze  loaded  with 
so  many  odors.  The  winged  pomegranate,  the  passion-flower, 
with  its  large  purple  flowers  striated  with  azure,  and  crowned 
with  its  dark  violet  tuft,  waved  in  long  spiral  wreaths  over  the 
heads  of  the  admiring  crowd,  then,  as  though  fatigued  with 
the  sport,  threw  their  colossal  garlands  of  delicate  flowers  across 
the  hard  prickly  leaves  of  the  gigantic  aloes. 

The  bignonia  of  India,  with  its  long  cup-shaped  flower  of  dark 
sulphur  color,  and  slight  slender  leaves,  was  placed  beside  the 
delicate  flesh-colored  petals  of  the  stephanotis,  so  justly  appreci- 
ated for  its  exquisite  perfume ;  the  two  stems  mutually  clinging 
to  each  other  for  support,  and  mingling  their  leaves  and  flowers 
in  one  confused  mass,  disposed  them  in  elegant  festoons  of 
green  fringe,  spangled  with  gold  and  silver  spots  round  the 
immense  velvet  foliage  of  the  Indian  fig.  Further  on,  started 
forth,  and  then  fell  again  in  a  sort  of  variegated  and  floral 
cascade,  immense  quantities  of  the  stalks  of  the  asclepias,  whose 
leaves,  large,  umbellated,  and  in  clusters  of  from  fifteen  to 
twenty  star-shaped  flowers,  grew  so  thickly,  so  evenly,  that 
they  might  have  been  mistaken  for  bouquets  of  pink  enamel 
surrounded  with  leaves  of  fine  green  porcelain.  The  borders  of 
the  cases  containing  the  oranges  and  camelias  were  filled  with 
the  choicest  cape  heaths,  the  tulips  of  Thol,  the  narcissus  of 
Constantinople,  the  hyacinths,  irides,  and  cyclamina  of  Persia; 
forming  a  sort  of  natural  carpet,  presenting  one  harmonious 
blending  of  the  loveliest  tints. 

Chinese  lanterns  of  transparent  silk,  some  pale  blue,  others 
pink,  partly  concealed  amid  the  foliage,  threw  a  soft  and  gentle 
light  over  this  enchanting  scene;  nor  could  a  more  ingenious 
idea  have  been  resorted  to  than  in  the  happy  amalgamation  of 


THE  BALL.  233 

these  two  colors,  by  which  a  charming,  and  almost  unearthly  light 
was  produced,  combining  the  clear  cerculean  blue  of  a  summer's 
night  with  the  rose-colored  coruscations  emitted  from  sparkling 
rays  of  an  aurora  borealis. 

The  entrance  to  this  immense  hot-house  was  from  a  long 
gallery  glittering  with  gold,  with  mirrors,  crystal  vases  filled 
with  the  choicest  perfumes,  and  brilliantly  lighted,  and  also 
raised  a  few  steps  above  the  fairy  palace  we  have  been  endeavor- 
ing to  describe.  The  dazzling  brightness  of  the  approach  served 
as  a  sort  of  penumbra,  in  which  were  indistinctly  traced  out  the 
gigantic  exotics  discernible  through  a  species  of  arch,  partly  con- 
cealed by  two  crimson  velvet  curtains  looped  back  with  golden 
cords  so  as  to  give  a  dim  and  misty  view  of  the  enchanted  land 
that  lay  beyond.  An  imaginative  mind  might  easily  have 
persuaded  himself  he  stood  near  a  huge  window  opening  on  some 
beautiful  Asiatic  landscape  during  the  tranquillity  of  a  summer's 
twilight. 

The  sounds  of  the  orchestra,  weakened  by  distance,  and  broken 
by  the  joyous  hum  proceeding  from  the  gallery,  died  languidly 
away  among  the  motionless  foliage  of  the  huge  trees.  Insensibly 
each  fresh  visitant  to  this  enchanting  spot  lowered  his  voice 
until  his  words  fell  in  whispers;  for  the  light  genuine  air, 
embalmed  with  a  thousand  rich  odors,  appeared  to  cast  a  sort 
of  somnolency  over  the  senses;  every  breath  seemed  to  speak 
of  the  clustering  plants  whose  balmy  sweetness  filled  the 
atmosphere.  Certainly  two  lovers,  seated  in  some  corner  of 
this  Eden,  could  conceive  no  greater  happiness  to  be  enjoyed  on 
earth,  than  thus  dreamily  to  rest  beneath  the  trees  and  flowers 
of  this  terrestrial  paradise. 

At  the  end  of  this  winter  garden  were  placed  immense  divans 
beneath  canopies  of  leaves  and  flowers ;  the  subdued  light  of  the 
hot-house  forming  a  powerful  contrast  with  the  gallery,  the 
distance  seemed  filled  with  a  species  of  gold-colored  shining  fog, 
in  the  midst  of  which  glittered  and  flickered,  like  a  living 
embroidery,  the  dazzling  and  varied  robes  of  the  ladies,  com- 
bined with  the  prismatic  scintillations  of  the  congregated  mass  of 
diamonds  and  precious  stones.  Rodolph's  first  sensation  upon 
arriving  at  this  enchanting  triumph  of  art  over  nature  was 
that  of  most  unfeigned  surprise. 

"This  is,  indeed,  a  wonderfully  beautiful  carrying  out  of  a 
poetical  idea,"  said  he,  almost  involuntarily;  then,  turning  to 
the  ambassadress,  he  exclaimed,  "  Madame,  till  now,  I  had  not 
deemed  such  wonders  practicable.  We  have  not  in  the  scene 
before  us  a  mere  union  of  unbounded  expense  with  the  most 


234:  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

exquisite  taste,  but  you  give  us  poetry  in  action.  Instead  of 
writing  as  a  master  poet,  or  painting  as  a  first-rate  artist,  you 
create  that  which  they  would  scarcely  venture  to  dream  of." 

"  Your  royal  highness  is  too  indulgent." 

"  Nay,  hut  candidly,  all  must  agree  that  the  mind  which 
could  so  faithfully  depict  this  ravishing  scene,  with  its  charm 
of  colors  and  contrasts — beyond  us,  the  loud  notes  of  joy  and 
mirthful  revelry,  here  the  soft  silence  and  sweet  gentle  murmurs 
of  distant  voices,  that  lull  the  spirit  into  a  fancied  flight  beyond 
this  fitful  existence, — surely,  surely,  without  suspicion  of  flattery, 
it  may  be  said  of  the  planner  and  contriver  of  all  this,  such  a 
one  was  born  a  poet  and  a  painter  combined." 

"  The  praises  of  your  royal  highness  are  so  much  the  more 
dangerous  from  the  skill  and  cleverness  with  which  they  are 
uttered,  and  which  makes  us  listen  to  them  with  delight,  even 
in  defiance  of  our  sternest  resolutions.  But  allow  me  to  call 
your  royal  highness's  attention  to  the  very  lovely  person  who  is 
approaching  us.  I  must  have  you  admit  that  the  Marquise 
d'Harville  must  shine  pre-eminently  beautiful  any  and  every 
where.  Is  she  not  graceful  ?  and  does  not  the  gentle  elegance  of 
her  whole  appearance  acquire  a  fresh  charm,  from  the  contrast 
with  the  severe  yet  classic  beauty  by  whom  she  is  accompanied  ?  " 

The  individuals  thus  alluded  to  were  the  Countess  Sarah 
Macgregor  and  the  Marquise  d'Harville,  who  were  at  this 
moment  descending  the  steps  which  led  from  the  gallery  to  the 
winter  garden.  Neither  was  the  panegyric  bestowed  by  the 
ambassadress  on  Madame  d'Harville  at  all  exaggerated.  No 
words  can  accurately  describe  the  loveliness  of  her  person,  and 
the  Marquise  d'Harville  was  then  in  the  first  bloom  of  youth- 
ful charms;  but  her  beauty,  delicate  and  fragile  as  it  was, 
appeared  less  to  belong  to  the  strict  regularity  of  her  features 
than  to  the  irresistible  expression  of  sweetness  and  universal 
kindness,  which  imparted  a  charm  to  her  countenance  impossible 
to  resist,  or  to  describe ;  and  this  peculiar  charm  served  invariably 
to  distinguish  Madame  d'Harville  from  all  other  fashionable 
beauties;  for  goodness  of  heart  and  kindliness  of  disposition 
are  but  rarely  seen  as  the  prevailing  passions  revealed  in  a  face 
as  fair,  as  young,  high-born,  and  ardently  worshiped  by  all, 
as  was  the  Marquise  d'Harville,  who  shone  forth  in  all  her 
luster  as  the  brightest  star  in  the  galaxy  of  fashion.  Too  wise, 
virtuous,  and  right-minded,  to  listen  to  the  host  of  flatterers  by 
whom  she  was  surrounded,  Madame  d'Harville  smiled  as  grate- 
fully on  all  as  though  she  could  have  given  them  credit  for 
speaking  the  truth,  had  not  her  own  modest  opinion  of  her 


THE  BALL.  235 

just  claims  to  such  homage  have  forbidden  her  accepting  of 
praise  she  never  could  have  deserved.  Wholly  indifferent  to 
flattery,  yet  sensibly  alive  to  kindness,  she  perfectly  distinguished 
between  sympathy  and  insincerity.  Her  acute  penetration, 
correct  judgment,  and  lively  wit,  unmixed  by  the  slightest  ill- 
nature,  made  her  wage  an  early,  though  good-tempered  war, 
with  those  vain  and  egotistical  beings  who  crowd  and  oppress 
society  with  the  view  of  monopolizing  general  attention,  and, 
blinded  by  their  own  self-love,  expect  one  universal  deference  and 
submission. 

"  Those  kind  of  persons,"  said  Madame  d'Harville  one  day, 
laughingly,  "  appear  to  me  as  if  their  whole  life  were  passed  in 
dancing  '  Le  Cavalier  Seul'  before  an  invisible  mirror/' 

An  unassuming  and  unpretending  person,  however  reserved 
and,  consequently  unpopular,  he  might  be  with  others,  was  sure 
to  find  a  steady  friend  and  partial  observer  in  Madame 
d'Harville. 

This  trifling  digression  is  absolutely  essential  to  the  right 
understanding  of  facts  of  which  we  shall  speak  hereafter. 

The  complexion  of  Madame  d'Harville  was  of  the  purest 
white,  tinged  with  the  most  delicate  carnation ;  her  long  tresses 
of  bright  chestnut  hair  floated  over  her  beautifully  formed 
shoulders,  white  and  polished  as  marble.  It  would  be  an  impos- 
sible task  to  describe  her  large  dark  gray  eyes,  fringed  with 
their  thick  lashes,  and  beaming  with  angelic  sweetness ;  her  coral 
lips,  with  their  gentle  smile,  gave  to  her  eyes  the  indefinable 
charm  that  her  affable  and  winning  mode  of  expressing  herself 
derived  from  their  mild  and  angelic  expression  of  approving 
goodness.  We  will  not  further  delay  the  reader  by  describing 
the  perfection  of  her  figure,  nor  dwell  upon  the  distinguished 
air  which  marked  her  whole  appearance.  She  wore  a  white 
crape  dress,  trimmed  with  the  natural  flowers  of  the  camelia, 
intermixed  with  its  own  rich  green  leaves.  Here  and  there  a 
diamond  sparkled  among  the  waxy  petals,  as  if  a  dew-drop 
fresh  from  its  native  skies  had  fallen  there.  A  garland  of  the 
same  flowers,  equally  ornamented  with  precious  stones,  was 
placed  with  infinite  grace  upon  her  fair  and  open  brow. 

The  peculiar  style  of  the  Countess  Sarah  Macgregor's  beauty 
served  to  set  off  the  fair  feminine  loveliness  of  her  companion. 
Though  turned  thirty-five  years  of  age,  Sarah  looked  much 
younger.  Nothing  appears  to  preserve  the  body  more  effectually 
from  all  the  attacks  of  sickness  or  decay  than  a  cold-hearted, 
egotistical  disregard  of  every  one  but  ourselves;  it  encrusts  the 
body  with  a  cold  icy  covering,  which  alike  resists  the  inroads  of 


236  TEE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

bodily  or  mental  wear  and  tear.  To  this  cause  may  be  ascribed 
the  wonderful  preservation  of  Countess  Sarah's  appearance. 

The  lady  whose  name  we  last  mentioned  wore  a  dress  of  pak 
amber  watered  silk,  beneath  a  crape  tunic  of  the  same  color 
A  simple  wreath  of  the  dark  leaves  of  the  Pyrus  Japonicus 
encircled  her  head,  and  harmonized  admirably  with  the  bandeaux 
of  raven  hair  it  confined.  This  classically  severe  mode  of  head" 
dress  gave  to  the  profile  of  this  imperious  woman  the  character 
and  resemblance  of  an  antique  statue.  Many  persons,  mistaking 
their  real  cast  of  countenance,  imagine  some  peculiar  vocation 
delineated  in  their  traits.  Thus  one  man,  who  fancies  he  pos- 
sesses a  warlike  air,  assumes  the  warrior;  another  imagines 

"  His  eyes  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling," 

marks  him  out  as  a  poet;  instantly  he  turns  down  his  shirt- 
collar,  adopts  poetical  language,  and  writes  himself  poet.  So 
the  self-imagined  conspirator  wastes  days  and  hours  in  ponder- 
ing over  mighty  deeds  he  feels  called  upon  to  do.  The  politician, 
upon  the  same  terms,  bores  the  world  and  his  friends  with 
his  perpetual  outpourings  upon  political  economy;  and  the  man 
whose  saintly  turn  of  countenance  persuades  its  owner  into  the 
belief  of  a  corresponding  character  within,  forthwith  abjures 
the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the  world,  and  aims  at  reforming 
his  brethren  by  his  pulpit  eloquence.  Now,  ambition  being 
Sarah's  ruling  passion,  and  her  noble  and  aristocratical 
features  well  assisting  the  delusion,  she  smiled  as  the  word 
"  diadem "  crossed  her  thoughts,  and  lent  a  willing  ear  to 
the  predictions  of  her  Highland  nurse,  and  firmly  believed 
herself  predestined  to  a  sovereign  destiny.  Spite  of  the  trifling 
embonpoint  that  gave  to  her  figure  (which,  though  fatter  than 
Madame  d'Harville's,  was  not  less  slender  and  nymphlike)  a 
voluptuous  gracefulness,  Sarah  boasted  of  all  the  freshness  of 
early  youth,  and  few  could  long  sustain  the  fire  of  her  black 
and  piercing  eyes;  her  nose  was  aquiline;  her  finely  formed 
mouth  and  rich  ruby  lips  were  expressive  of  the  highest 
determination,  haughtiness,  and  pride. 

The  marquise  and  Sarah  had  recognized  Rodolph  in  the 
winter-garden  at  the  moment  they  were  descending  into  it  from 
the  gallery;  but  the  prince  feigned  not  to  observe  their  pres- 
ence. 

"  The  prince  is  so  entirely  absorbed  with  the  ambassadress," 
said  Madame  d'Harville  to  Sarah,  "  that  he  pays  not  the  slightest 
attention  to  us/' 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken,  my  dear  Clemence,"  rejoined  the 


TEE  BALL.  237 

countess;  "the  prince  saw  us  as  quickly  and  as  plainly  as  we 
saw  him,  but  I  frightened  him  away:  you  see  he  still  bears 
malice  with  me." 

"I  am  more  than  ever  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  singular 
obstinacy  with  which  he  persists  in  shunning  you — you,  formerly 
an  old  friend.  '  Countess  Sarah  and  myself  are  sworn  enemies,' 
replied  he  to  me  once  in  a  joking  manner;  'I  have  made  a  vow 
never  to  speak  to  her;  and  you  may  judge  how  sacred  must  be 
the  vow  that  hinders  me  from  conversing  with  so  charming  a 
lady.'  And,  strange  and  unaccountable  as  was  this  reply,  I  had 
no  alternative  but  to  submit  to  it." 

"  And  yet  I  can  assure  you  that  the  cause  of  this  deadly  feud, 
half  in  jest  and  half  in  earnest  as  it  is,  originates  in  the  most 
simple  circumstance.  Were  it  not  that  a  third  party  is 
implicated  in  it,  I  should  have  explained  the  whole  to  you  long 
ago.  But  what  is  the  matter,  my  dear  child?  You  seem  as 
though  your  thoughts  were  far  from  the  present  scene." 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  I  assure  you,"  replied  the  marquise, 
faintly;  "but  the  gallery  was  so  very  hot,  it  gave  me  a  violent 
headache.  Let  us  sit  down  here  for  a  minute  or  two.  I  hope 
and  believe  it  will  soon  be  better." 

"  You  are  right :  see,  here  is  a  nice  quiet  corner,  where  you  will 
be  in  perfect  safety  from  the  researches  of  those  who  are  lament- 
ing your  absence,"  added  Sarah,  pronouncing  the  last  words  with 
marked  emphasis. 

The  two  ladies  then  seated  themselves  on  a  divan,  almost 
concealed  beneath  the  clustering  shrubs  and  overhanging  plants. 

"  I  said  those,  who  would  be  lamenting  your  absence,  my  dear 
Clemence — come,  own  that  I  deserve  praise  for  so  discreetly 
forming  my  speech." 

The  marquise  blushed  slightly,  cast  down  her  eyes,  but  spoke 
not. 

"  How  unreasonable  you  are !  "  exclaimed  Sarah,  in  a  tone  of 
friendly  reproach.  "Can  you  not  trust  me,  my  dear  child? — 
yes,  child;  for  am  I  not  old  enough  to  be  your  mother  ?  " 

"Not  trust  you?"  uttered  the  marquise,  sadly:  "alas!  have 
I  not  on  the  contrary  confessed  that  to  you  which  I  should 
hardly  have  dared  to  own  to  myself?" 

"Well,  then,  come,  rouse  yourself — now,  let  us  have  a  little 
talk  about  HIM:  and,  so  you  have  really  sworn  to  drive  him 
to  despair  ?  " 

"  For  the  love  of  Heaven,"  exclaimed  Madame  d'Harville, 
"  think  what  you  are  saying !  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  know  him  better  than  you  do,  my  poor  child : 


238  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

he  is  a  man  of  cool  and  decided  energy,  who  sets  but  little 
value  on  his  life;  he  has  had  misfortunes  enough  to  make  him 
quite  weary  of  it;  and  it  really  seems  as  if  you  daily  found 
greater  pleasure  in  tormenting  him,  and  playing  with  his 
feelings." 

"  Is  it  possible  you  can  really  think  so  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  cannot  refrain  from  entertain- 
ing that  opinion.  Oh,  if  you  but  knew  how  over-susceptible 
some  minds  are  rendered  by  a  continuance  of  sorrows  and 
afflictions — just  now  I  saw  two  large  tears  fall  from  his  eyes,  as 
he  gazed  on  you." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  what  you  say  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  am  quite  certain ;  and  that  too  in  a  ball-room,  at 
the  risk  of  becoming  an  object  of  general  derision,  if  this  uncon- 
trollable misery  were  perceived !  Ah !  let  me  tell  you,  a  person 
must  truly  love  to  bear  all  this,  and  even  to  be  careless  about 
concealing  his  sufferings  from  the  world." 

"  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  do  not  speak  thus ! "  replied 
Madame  d'Harville,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion.  "  Alas ! 
you  have  touched  me  nearly:  I  know  too  well  what  it  is  to 
struggle  with  a  hidden  grief,  yet  wear  an  outward  expression  of 
calmness  and  resignation.  Alas !  alas !  'tis  the  deep  pity  and 
commiseration  I  feel  for  him  has  been  my  ruin,"  added  she, 
almost  unconsciously. 

"Nonsense!  what  an  over-nice  person  you  are,  to  talk  of  a 
little  innocent  flirtation  being  ruinous,  and  that  too  with  a  man 
so  scrupulously  guarded  as  to  abstain  from  ever  appearing  in 
your  husband's  presence,  for  fear  of  compromising  you.  You 
must  admit  that  M.  Charles  Eobert  is  a  man  of  surprising 
honor,  delicacy,  and  real  feeling.  I  feel  the  more  inclined  to 
espouse  his  cause  from  the  recollection  that  you  have  never  met 
him  elsewhere  but  at  my  house,  and  because  I  can  answer  for 
his  principles,  and  that  his  devoted  attachment  to  you  can  only 
be  equaled  by  the  deep  respect  he  bears  you." 

"I  have  never  doubted  the  many  noble  qualities  you  have 
so  repeatedly  assured  me  he  possesses,  but  you  know  well  that 
it  is  his  long  succession  of  bitter  afflictions  which  have  so  warmly 
interested  me  in  his  favor." 

"  And  well  does  he  merit  this  interest,  and  most  fully  do  his 
excellent  qualities  absolve  you  of  all  blame  in  thus  bestowing  it. 
Surely  so  fine  and  noble  a  countenance  bespeaks  a  mind  equally 
superior  to  all  mankind.  How  completely  are  you  reminded, 
while  gazing  on  his  tall  and  finely  proportioned  figure,  of  the 
preux  chevaliers  of  bygone  days,  '  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche' 


THE  BALL.  239 

I  once  saw  him  dressed  in  his  uniform  as  commandant  of  the 
national  guard,  and,  handsome  as  he  is,  I  really  think  he  looked 
surpassingly  well,  and  I  could  but  say  to  myself,  that,  if 
nobility  were  the  award  of  inward  merit  and  external  beauty, 
M.  Charles  Robert,  instead  of  being  so  called,  would  take 
precedence  of  nearly  all  our  dukes  and  peers.  Would  he  not  be 
a  fitting  representative  of  any  of  the  most  distinguished  families 
in  France  ?  " 

"  You  know,  my  dear  countess,  how  very  little  importance  I 
attach  to  mere  birth,  and  you  yourself  have  frequently  reproached 
me  with  being  strongly  inclined  to  republicanism,"  said  Madame 
d'Harville,  gently  smiling. 

"  For  my  own  part,  I  always  thought  with  you,  that  M. 
Charles  Robert  required  not  the  aid  of  rank  or  titles  to  render 
him  worthy  of  universal  admiration.  Then,  what  extreme  talent 
he  possesses !  what  a  fine  voice  he  has !  and  what  delightful 
morning  concerts  we  three  have  been  able  to  achieve,  owing  to 
his  all-powerful  assistance!  Ah,  my  dear  Clemence,  do  you 
remember  the  first  time  you  ever  sung  with  him,  what  passionate 
expression  did  he  not  throw  into  the  words  of  that  beautiful 
duet,  so  descriptive  of  his  love,  and  his  fear  of  offending  her  who 
was  the  object  of  it,  by  revealing  it  ?  " 

"  Let  me  entreat  of  you,"  said  Madame  d'Harville,  after  a  long 
silence,  "to  speak  of 'something  else;  indeed  I  dare  not  listen 
further :  what  you  but  just  now  intimated  of  his  depressed  and 
unhappy  appearance  has  caused  me  much  pain.'* 

"  Nay,  my  dear  friend,  I  meant  not  to  grieve  you,  but  merely 
to  point  out  the  probability  that  a  man,  rendered  doubly  sensitive 
by  the  succession  of  past  misfortunes,  might  feel  his  courage 
insufficient  to  encounter  the  fresh  trial  of  your  rejection  of  his 
suit,  and  thus  be  induced  to  end  his  hopeless  love  and  his  life 
together." 

"  Oh,  no  more !  no  more ! "  almost  shrieked  Madame 
d'Harville,  interrupting  Sarah ;  "  this  fearful  idea  has  glanced 
across  my  mind  already."  Then,  after  a  second  silence  of  some 
minutes,  the  marquise  resumed,  "  Let  us,  as  I  said  before,  talk 
of  somebody  else — of  your  mortal  enemy  for  instance,"  added 
she,  with  assumed  gaiety  of  manner ;  "  come,  we  will  take  the 
prince  for  a  fresh  theme  of  conversation:  I  had  not  seen  him, 
previously  to  this  evening,  for  a  very  long  time.  Do  you  know 
that  I  think  he  looks  handsomer  than  ever?  Though  all  but 
king,  he  has  lost  none  of  the  winning  sweetness  and  affability  of 
his  manner,  and,  spite  of  my  republicanism,  I  must  confess  I 
have  seldom,  if  ever,  known  so  irresistible  a  person." 


24:0  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

Sarah  threw  a  side-glance  of  deep  and  scrutinizing  hatred  upon 
her  unconscious  rival,  but,  quickly  recovering  herself,  she  said, 
gaily,— 

"  Now,  my  dear  Clemence,  you  must  confess  to  being  a  most 
capricious  little  lady:  you  have  regular  alternating  paroxysms 
of  admiration  and  violent  dislike  for  the  prince;  why,  a  few 
months  ago,  I  mean  about  his  first  arrival  here,  you  were  so 
captivated  by  him,  that,  between  ourselves,  I  was  half  afraid  you 
had  lost  your  heart  past  all  hope  of  recall." 

"  Thanks  to  you,"  replied  Madame  d'Harville,  smiling,  "  my 
admiration  was  very  short-lived;  for  so  well  did  you  act  up  to 
your  character  of  the  prince's  sworn  foe,  and  such  fearful  tales 
did  you  tell  me  of  his  profligacy  and  misconduct,  that  you 
succeeded  in  inspiring  me  with  an  aversion  as  powerful  as  had 
been  the  infatuation  which  led  you  to  fear  for  the  safety  of  my 
heart ;  which,  by  the  way,  I  cannot  think  would  ever  have  been 
placed  in  any  danger  from  the  attempts  of  your  enemy  to  disturb 
its  repose,  since,  shortly  before  you  gave  me  those  frightful 
particulars  of  the  prince's  character,  he  had  quite  ceased  to 
honor  me  with  his  visits,  although  on  the  most  intimate  and 
friendly  terms  with  my  husband." 

"Talking  of  your  husband,  pray  is  he  here  to-night?" 
inquired  Sarah. 

"No,"  replied  Madame  d'Harville,  in  a  tone  of  embarrass- 
ment ;  "  he  preferred  remaining  at  home." 

"  He  seems  to  me  to  mix  less  and  less  in  the  world." 

"  He  never  liked  what  is  called  fashionable  gaiety." 

The  marquise's  agitation  visibly  increased;  and  Sarah,  whose 
quick  eye  easily  perceived  it,  continued, — 

"  The  last  time  I  saw  him  he  looked  -even  paler  than  usual." 

"  He  has  been  very  much  out  of  health  lately." 

"  My  dearest  Clemence,  will  you  permit  me  to  speak  to  you 
without  reserve  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes!  pray  do!" 

"  How  comes  it  that  the  least  allusion  to  your  husband  always 
throws  you  into  such  a  state  of  extraordinary  alarm  and  uneasi- 
ness?"' 

"  What  an  idea !  is  it  possible  you  can  mean  it  seriously  ?  " 
asked  poor  Madame  d'Harville,  trying  to  smile. 

"  Indeed  I  am  quite  in  earnest,"  rejoined  her  companion ; 
"  whenever  you  are  speaking  of  him,  your  countenance  assumes, 
even  in  spite  .of  yourself but  how  shall  I  make  myself  under- 
stood ? "  and  Sarah,  with  the  tone  and  fixed  gaze  of  one  who 
wished  to  read  the  most  secret  thoughts  of  the  person  she 


THE  BALL.  241 

addressed,  slowly  and  emphatically  added — "  A  look  of  mingled 
aversion  and  fear !  " 

The  fixed  pallid  features  of  Madame  d'Harville  at  first  defied 
even  Sarah's  practised  eye,  but  her  keen  gaze  soon  detected  a 
slight  convulsive  working  of  the  mouth,  with  a  tremulous  move- 
ment of  the  under-lip  of  her  victim,  but  feeling  it  unsafe  to* 
pursue  the  subject  further  at  this  moment  so  as  to  awaken 
the  marquise's  mistrust  of  her  friendly  intentions,  by  way, 
therefore,  of  concealing  her  real  suspicions,  she  continued, — 

"  Yes,  just  that  sort  of  dislike  any  woman  would  entertain  for 
a  peevish,  jealous,  ill-tempered " 

At  this  explanation  of  the  countess's  meaning,  as  regarded 
Madame  d'Harville's  imagined  dislike  to  her  husband,  a  heavy 
load  seemed  taken  from  her;  the  working  of  her  lip  ceased,  and 
she  replied, — 

"  Let  me  assure  you  M.  d'Harville  is  neither  peevish  nor 
jealous."  Then,  as  if  searching  for  some  means  of  breaking  a 
conversation  so  painful  to  her  feelings,  she  suddenly  exclaimed, 
"  Ah !  here  comes  that  tiresome  friend  of  my  husband's,  the 
Duke  de  Lucenay — I  hope  he  has  not  seen  us — where  can  he 
have  sprung  from?  I  thought  he  was  a  thousand  miles 
off!" 

"  It  was  reported  that  he  had  gone  somewhere  in  the  East 
for  a  year  or  two,  and  behold,  at  the  end  of  five  months,  here  he 
is  back  again !  His  unexpected  arrival  must  have  sadly  annoyed 
the  Duchess  de  Lucenay,  though  poor  De  Lucenay  is  a  very 
inoffensive  creature,"  said  Sarah,  with  an  ill-natured  smile. 
"  Nor  will  Madame  de  Lucenay  be  the  only  one  to  feel  vexation 
at  his  thus  changing  his  mind ;  her  friend,  M.  de  St.  Remy,  will 
duly  and  affectionately  .sympathize  in  all  her  regrets  on  the 
subject." 

"  Come,  come !  my  dear  Sarah,  I  cannot  allow  you  to 
scandalize ;  say  that  this  return  of  M.  de  Lucenay  is  a  nuisance 
to  everybody;  the  duke  is  sufficiently  disagreeable  for  you  to 
generalize  the  regret  his  unexpected  presence  occasions." 

"  I  do  not  slander,  I  merely  repeat.  It  is  also  said  that  M.  de 
St.  Remy,  the  model  of  our  young  elegantes,  whose  splendid 
doings  have  filled  all  Paris,  is  all  but  ruined !  'Tis  true,  he  has 
by  no  means  reduced  either  his  establishment  or  his  expenditure : 
however,  there  are  several  ways  of  accounting  for  that;  in  the 
first  place,  Madame  de  Lucenay  is  immensely  rich." 

"What  a  horrible  idea!" 

"  Still  I  only  repeat  what  others  say.  There,  the  duke  sees 
us:  he  is  coming  towards  us;  we  must  resign  ourselves  to  our 


242  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

fate — miserable — is  it  not?  I  know  nothing  so  hard  to  bear  as 
that  man's  company;  he  makes  himself  so  very  disagreeable, 
and  then  laughs  so  disgustingly  loud  at  the  silly  things  he  says. 
Indeed,  he  is  so  boisterous  that  the  bare  idea  of  him  makes  one 
think  of  pretending  to  faint,  or  any  other  pretext,  to  avoid  him. 
Talking  of  fainting,  pray  let  me  beg  of  you,  if  you  have  the 
least  regard  for  your  fan  or  essence-bottle,  to  beware  how  you 
allow  him  to  handle  either,  for  he  has  the  unfortunate  habit 
of  breaking  whatever  he  touches,  and  all  with  the  most  facetious 
self-satisfied  air  imaginable." 

Belonging  to  one  of  the  first  families  in  France,  still  young, 
and  with  a  face  that  would  have  been  agreeable  had  it  not 
been  for  the  almost  ridiculous  and  disproportionate  length  of 
his  nose,  M.  de  Lucenay  joined  to  a  restless  love  of  constant 
motion  the  habit  of  talking  and  laughing  fearfully  loud  upon 
subjects  quite  at  variance  with  good  taste  or  polished  manners, 
and  throwing  himself  into  attitudes  so  abrupt  and  awkward, 
that  it  was  only  by  recalling  who  he  was,  that  his  being  found  in 
the  midst  of  the  most  distinguished  societies  in  Paris  could  be 
accounted  for,  or  a  reason  assigned  for  tolerating  his  gestures 
and  language;  for  both  of  which  he  had  now,  by  dint  of  long 
practise  and  adherence,  acquired  a  sort  of  free  license  or 
impunity.  He  was  shunned  like  the  plague,  although  not 
deficient  in  a  certain  description  of  wit,  which  told  here  and 
there  amid  the  indescribable  confusion  of  remarkable  phraseology 
which  he  allowed  himself  the  use  of;  in  fact  he  was  one  of  those 
unintentional  instruments  of  vengeance  one  would  always  like 
to  employ  in  the  wholesale  chastisement  of  persons  who  have 
rendered  themselves  either  ridiculous  or  abhorrent. 

The  Duchess  de  Lucenay,  one  of  the  most  agreeable,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  most  fashionable  women  in  Paris  (spite  of  her 
having  numbered  thirty  summers),  had  more  than  once  furnished 
matter  of  conversation  among  the  scandal-dealers  of  Paris;  but 
her  errors,  whatever  they  were  supposed  to  be,  were  pardoned, 
in  consideration  of  the  heavy  drawback  of  such  a  partner  as  M.  de 
Lucenay. 

Another  feature  in  the  character  of  this  latter-named  indi- 
vidual was  a  singular  affectation  of  the  most  absurd  and  unknown 
expressions,  relative  to  imaginary  complaints  and  ridiculous 
infirmities  he  amused  himself  in  supposing  you  suffered  from, 
and  concerning  which  he  would  make  earnest  inquiries,  in  a  loud 
voice,  and  in  the  immediate  presence  of  a  hundred  persons.  But 
possessed  of  first-rate  courage,  and  always  ready  to  take  the  con- 
sequences of  his  disagreeable  jokes,  M.  de  Lucenay  had  been 


THE  BALL.  243 

concerned  in  various  affairs  of  honor  arising  out  of  them,  with 
varied  success;  coming  off  sometimes  victor,  sometimes  van- 
quished, without  being  in  any  way  cured  of  his  unpleasant  and 
annoying  tricks. 

All  this  premised,  we  will  ask  the  reader  to  imagine  the  loud, 
harsh  voice  of  the  personage  we  have  been  describing,  shouting 
from  the  distance  at  which  he  first  recognized  Madame  d'Harville 
and  Sarah, — 

"  Holla !  holla  !  who  is  that  out  there?  Come,  who  is  it?  let's 
see.  What !  the  prettiest  woman  at  the  ball  sitting  out  here, 
away  from  everybody !  I  can't  have  this ;  it  was  high  time  I 
returned  from  the  other  end  of  the  world  to  put  a  stop  to  such 
doings  as  this.  I  tell  you  what,  marquise,  if  you  persist  in  thus 
concealing  yourself  from  general  view,  and  cheating  people  from 
looking  at  you,  I  will  set  up  a  cry  of  fire !  fire !  that  shall  bring 
everyone  out  of  the  ballroom,  around  you." 

And  then,  by  way  of  terminating  his  discourse,  M.  de  Lucenay 
threw  himself  almost  on  his  back  beside  the  two  ladies,  crossed 
his  left  leg  over  his  right  thigh,  and  held  his  foot  in  his 
hand. 

"  You  have  soon  returned  from  Constantinople,  my  lord," 
observed  Madame  d'Harville,  fancying  it  was  necessary  to  say 
something,  and,  at  the  same  time,  drawing  away  from  her 
unpleasant  neighbor  with  ill-concealed  impatience. 

"  Ah,  that  is  just  what  my  wife  said !  '  Already  back,  my 
lord  ?  '  exclaimed  she,  when  she  saw  me  alight  from  my  traveling- 
carriage  ;  *  why,  bless  me,  I  did  not  expect  you  so  SOON  ! '  And, 
do  you  know,  instead  of  flying  to  my  arms,  as  if  the  surprise  had 
delighted  her,  she  turned  quite  sulky,  and  refused  to  appear 
with  me  at  this,  my  first  ball  since  my  return!  And,  upon  my 
soul,  I  declare  her  staying  away  has  caused  a  far  greater  sensa- 
tion than  my  presence — droll,  isn't  it?  'pon  my  life  I  declare  I 
can't  make  it  out.  When  she  is  with  me,  nobody  pays  the  least 
attention  to  me;  but  when  I  entered  the  room  alone  to-night 
such  a  crowd  came  humming  and  buzzing  round  me,  all  calling 
out  at  once — 'Where  is  Madame  de  Lucenay?  is  not  she  coming 
this  evening  ?  oh,  dear,  what  a  disappointment !  how  vexatious ! 
how  disagreeable ! '  etc.  etc.  And  then,  marquise,  when  I  come 
where  you  are,  and  expect,  after  returning  all  the  way  from 
Constantinople,  you  will  be  overjoyed  to  see  me — you  look  upon 
me  as  if  I  were  a  dog  running  amidst  an  interesting  game  of 
nine-pins ;  and  yet,  for  all  I  see,  I  am  just  as  agreeable  as  other 
people." 

"  And  it  would  have  been  so  easy  for  you  to  have  continued 


244:  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

agreeable — in  the  East,"  added  Madame  d'Harville,  slightly 
smiling. 

"  Stop  abroad,  you  mean,  I  suppose ;  yes,  I  dare  say.  I  tell 
you  I  could  not,  and  I  would  not;  and  it  is  not  quite  what  I 
like,  to  hear  you  say  so ! "  exclaimed  M.  de  Lucenay,  uncrossing 
his  legs,  and  beating  the  crown  of  his  hat  after  the  fashion  of  a 
tambourine. 

"  Well,  for  Heaven's  sake,  my  lord,  be  still,  and  do  not  call 
out  so  very  loudly,"  said  Madame  d'Harville,  angrily,  "  or  really 
you  will  compel  me  to  change  my  place." 

"  Change  your  place !  Ah  to  be  sure !  you  want  to  take  my  arm, 
and  walk  about  the  gallery  a  little;  come  along  then,  I'm 
ready." 

"  Walk  with  you  !  certainly  not !  And  pray  let  me  beg  of  you 
not  to  meddle  with  that  bouquet — and  have  the  goodness  not  to 
touch  the  fan  either,  you  will  only  break  it,  as  you  always  do." 

"  Oh,  bless  you !  talking  of  breaking  fans,  I  am  unlucky. 
Did  my  wife  ever  show  you  a  magnificent  Chinese  fan,  given 
to  her  by  Madame  de  Vaudemont  ?  Well,  I  broke  that !  "  And, 
having  delivered  himself  of  these  comforting  words,  M.  de 
Lucenay  again  threw  himself  back  on  the  divan  he  had  been 
lounging  on,  but,  with  his  accustomed  gauclierie,  contrived  to 
pitch  himself  over  the  back  of  it,  on  to  the  ground,  grasping  in 
his  hand  a  quantity  of  the  floating  wreaths  of  climbing  plants 
which  depended  from  the  boughs  of  the  trees  under  which  the 
party  was  sitting,  and  which  he  had  been,  for  sometime,  amus- 
ing himself  with  essaying  to  catch,  as,  moved  by  the  light  breeze 
admitted  into  the  place,  they  undulated  gracefully  over  his 
head.  The  suddenness  of  his  fall  brought  down,  not  only  those 
he  held,  but  the  parent  stems  belonging  to  them;  and  poor  De 
Lucenay  was  so  covered  by  the  mass  of  foliage  thus  unexpectedly 
obtained,  that,  ere  he  could  thoroughly  disengage  himself  from 
their  circling  tendrils,  he  presented  the  appearance  of  some 
monarch  of  May-day  crowned  with  his  leafy  diadem.  So 
whimsical  an  appearance  as  he  presented  drew  down  roars  of 
deafening,  stunning  laughter ;  much  to  the  annoyance  of  Madame 
d'Harville,  who  would  quickly  have  got  out  of  the  vicinity  of  so 
awkward  and  unpleasant  a  person  had  she  not  perceived  M. 
Charles  Eobert  (le  commandant  of  Madame  Pipelet's  accounts) 
advancing  from  the  other  end  of  the  gallery;  and,  unwilling  to 
appear  as  though  going  to  meet  him,  she  once  more  resumed  her 
seat  beside  M.  de  Lucenay. 

"  I  say,  Lady  Macgregor,"  vociferated  the  incorrigible  De 
Lucenay,  "  didn't  I  look  preciously  like  a  wild  man  of  the  woods, 


THE  BALL.  245 

or  the  god  Pan,  or  a  sylvan,  or  a  naiad,  or  some  of  those  savage 
creatures,  with  that  green  wreath  round  my  head?  Oh,  but 
talking  of  savages,"  added  he,  abruptly  approaching  Sarah, 
"  Lady  Macgregor,  I  must  tell  you  a  most  outrageously  indecent 
story.  Just  imagine  that  at  Otaheite " 

"  My  lord  duke "  interrupted  Sarah,  in  a  tone  of  freezing 

rebuke. 

"  Just  as  you  like — you  are  not  obliged  to  hear  my  story  if 
you  don't  like  it ;  you  are  the  loser,  that's  all.  Ah !  I  see 
Madame  de  Fonbonne  out  there,  I  shall  keep  it  for  her :  she  is  a 
dear,  kind  creature,  and  will  be  delighted  to  hear  it;  so  I'll  save 
it  for  her." 

Madame  de  Fonbonne  was  a  fat  little  woman,  of  about  fifty 
years  of  age,  very  pretending,  and  very  ridiculous.  Her  fat 
double  chin  rested  on  her  equally  fat  throat;  and  she  was  con- 
tinually talking,  with  upturned  eyes,  of  her  tender,  her  sensitive 
soul ;  the  languor  of  her  soul ;  the  craving  of  her  soul ;  the  aspira- 
tions of  her  soul.  To  these  disadvantages,  she  added  the  addi- 
tional one  of  being  particularly  ill-dressed,  upon  the  present 
occasion,  in  a  horrible-looking  copper-colored  turban,  with  a 
sprinkling  of  green  flowers  over  it. 

"  Yes,"  again  asserted  De  Lucenay,  in  his  loudest  voice,  "  that 
charming  anecdote  shall  be  told  to  Madame  de  Fonbonne." 

"  May  I  be  permitted,  my  lord  duke,  to  inquire  the  subject  of 
your  conversation?"  said  the  lady  thus  apostrophized,  who, 
hearing  her  name  mentioned,  immediately  commenced  her  usual 
mincing,  bridling  attempts  to  draw  up  her  little  chubby  self,  but, 
failing  in  the  effort,  fell  back  upon  the  easier  maneuver  of  "  roll- 
ing up  the  whites  of  her  eyes,"  as  it  is  commonly  called. 

"  It  refers,  madam,  to  a  most  horribly  indecent,  revolting,  and 
strange  story." 

"Heaven  bless  me!  and  who  dares? oh,  dear  me!  who 

would  venture " 

"  I  would,  madam.  I  can  answer  for  the  truth  of  the 
anecdote,  and  that  it  would  make  a  stick  or  a  stone  blush  to  hear 
it;  but,  as  I  am  aware  how  dearly  you  love  such  stories,  I  will 
relate  it  to  you.  You  must  know,  then,  that  in  Otaheite • 

"  My  lord,"  exclaimed  the  indignant  lady,  turning  up  her 
eyes  with  indignant  horror,  "  it  really  is  surprising  you  can  allow 
yourself  to !  " 

"  Now,  for  those  unkind  looks  you  shall  not  hear  my  pretty 
story  either,  though  I  had  been  reserving  it  for  you.  And,  now 
I  look  at  you,  I  can  but  wonder  that  you,  so  celebrated  for  the 
taste  and  good  style  of  your  dress,  should  have  put  that  wretched 


246  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

thing  on  your  head  for  a  turban,  but  which  looks  more  like 
an  old  copper  baking-dish  spotted  all  over  with  verdigris."  So 
saying,  the  duke,  as  if  charmed  with  his  own  wit,  burst  into  a 
loud  and  long  peal  of  laughter. 

"  If,  my  lord,"  exclaimed  the  enraged  lady,  "  you  merely 
returned  from  the  East  to  resume  your  offensive  jokes,  which 
are  tolerated  because  you  are  supposed  to  be  only  half  in  your 
senses,  all  who  know  you  are  bound  to  hope  you  intend  to  return 
as  quickly  as  you  came ; "  saying  which  she  arose,  and  majes- 
tically waddled  away. 

"I  tell  you  what,  Lady  Macgregor,  if  I  don't  take  devilish 
good  care,  I  shall  let  fly  at  that  stupid  old  prude  and  pull  her 
old  stew-pan  off  her  head,"  said  M.  de  Lucenay,  thrusting  his 
hands  deep  down  into  his  pockets  as  if  to  prevent  their  com- 
mitting the  retaliating  mischief  he  contemplated.  "  But  no," 
said  he,  after  a  pause,  "  I  won't  hurt  the  '  sensitive  soul,'  poor 
innocent  thing !  ha !  ha !  ha !  Besides,  think  of  her  being  an 
orphan  at  her  tender  age ! "  And  renewed  peals  of  laughter 
announced  that  the  imagination  of  the  duke  had  again  found  a 
fresh  fund  of  amusement  in  some  reminiscence  of  Madame  de 
Fonbonne;  which,  however,  soon  gave  place  to  an  expression  of 
surprise,  as  the  figure  of  the  commandant,  sauntering  towards 
them,  caught  his  eye. 

"  Holla !  "  cried  he,  "there's  M.  Charles  Eobert.  I  met  him 
last  summer  at  the  German  baths:  he  is  a  deuced  fine  fellow — 
sings  like  a  swan.  Now,  marquise,  I'll  show  you  some  fun — 
just  see  how  I'll  bother  him.  Would  you  like  me  to  introduce 
him  to  you  ?  " 

"  Be  quiet,  if  you  can,"  said  Sarah,  turning  her  back,  most 
unceremoniously,  upon  M.  de  Lucenay,  "and  let  us  alone,  I 
beg." 

As  M.  Charles  Eobert,  while  affecting  to  be  solely  occupied  in 
admiring  the  rare  plants  on  either  side  of  him,  continued  to 
advance,  M.  de  Lucenay  had  cleverly  contrived  to  get  posses- 
sion of  Sarah's  flacon  d'esprit,  and  was  deeply  and  silently 
engaged  in  the  interesting  employment  of  demolishing  the 
stopper  of  the  trinket. 

Still  M.  Charles  Robert  kept  on  his  gradual  approach  to  the 
party  he  was,  in  reality,  making  the  object  of  his  visit.  His  figure 
was  tall  and  finely  proportioned;  his  features  boasted  the  most 
faultless  regularity;  his  dress  was  in  the  first  style  of  modern 
elegance;  yet  his  countenance,  his  whole  person,  were  destitute 
of  grace,  or  that  distingue  air  which  is  more  to  be  coveted  than 
mere  beauty,  whether  of  face  or  figure ;  his  movements  were  stiff 


THE  BALL.  247 

and  constrained,  and  his  hands  and  feet  large  and  coarse.  As 
he  approached  Madame  d'Harville  his  insipid  and  insignificant 
countenance  assumed,  all  at  once,  an  expression  of  the  deepest 
melancholy,  too  sudden  to  be  genuine;  nevertheless  he  acted  the 
part  as  closely  to  nature  as  might  be.  M.  Robert  had  the  air  of 
a  man  so  thoroughly  wretched,  so  oppressed  by  a  multitude  of 
sorrows,  that  as  he  came  up  to  Madame  d'Harville  she  could  not 
help  recalling  to  mind  the  fearful  mention  made  by  Sarah  touch- 
ing the  violence  to  which  grief  such  as  his  might  drive  him. 

"  How  are  you  ?  how  are  you,  my  dear  sir  ?  "  exclaimed  the 
Duke  de  Lucenay,  interrupting  the  further  approach  of  the 
commandant.  "  I  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  since 

we  met  at  the  spas  of But  what  the  devil  ails  you — are  you 

ill?" 

Hereupon  M.  Charles  Robert  assumed  a  languid  and  senti- 
mental air,  and,  casting  a  melancholy  look  towards  Madame 
d'Harville,  replied,  in  a  tone  of  deep  depression, — 

"  Indeed,  my  lord,  I  am  very  far  from  being  well." 

"  God  bless  me !  why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  Ah !  I 
suppose  that  confounded  plaguy  cough  still  sticks  to  yon,"  said 
M.  de  Lucenay,  with  an  appearance  of  the  most  serious  interest 
in  the  inquiry. 

At  this  ridiculous  question,  M.  Charles  Robert  stood  for  a 
moment  as  though  struck  dumb  with  astonishment,  but,  quickly 
recovering  himself,  said,  while  his  face  crimsoned,  and  his  voice 
trembled  with  rage,  in  a  short,  firm  voice,  to  M.  de  Lucenay, — 

"  Since  you  express  so  much  uneasiness  respecting  my  health, 
my  lord,  I  trust  you  will  not  fail  calling  to-morrow  to  know 
how  I  am." 

"  Upon  my  life  and  soul,  my  dear  sir,  I but  most  certainly 

I  will  send,"  said  the  duke,  with  a  haughty  bow  to  M.  Charles 
Robert,  who,  coolly  returning  it,  walked  away. 

"  The  best  of  the  joke  is,"  said  M.  de  Lucenay,  throwing  him- 
self again  by  the  side  of  Sarah,  "  that  our  tall  friend  there  had 
no  more  of  a  spitting  complaint  than  the  great  Turk  himself — 
unless,  indeed,  I  stumbled  upon  the  truth  without  knowing  it. 
Well,  he  might  have  that  complaint  for  anything  I  know  or  care. 
What  do  you  think,  Lady  Macgregor— did  that  great  tall  fellow 
look,  to  you,  as  though  he  were  suffering  from  la  pituite  ?  "* 

Sarah's  only  reply  was  an  indignant  rising  from  her  seat,  and 
hasty  removal  from  the  vicinage  of  the  annoying  Duke  de 
Lucenay. 

All  this  had  passed  with  the  rapidity  of  thought.  Sarah  had 
*  A  sort  of  viscous,  phlegmy  complaint. 


248  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

experienced  considerable  difficulty  in  restraining  her  inclination 
to  indulge  in  a  hearty  fit  of  laughter  at  the  absurd  question  put 
by  the  Duke  de  Lucenay  to  the  commandant;  but  Madame 
d'Harville  had  painfully  sympathized  with  the  feelings  of  a  man 
so  ridiculously  interrogated  in  the  presence  of  the  woman  he 
loved.  Then,  horror-struck  as  the  probable  consequences  of  the 
duke's  jest  rose  to  her  mind,  led  away  by  her  dread  of  the  duel 
which  might  arise  out  of  it,  and  still  further  instigated  by  a 
feeling  of  deep  pity  for  one  who  seemed  to  her  misled  imagina- 
tion as  marked  out  for  every  venomed  shaft  of  envy,  malice,  and 
revenge,  Clemence  rose  abruptly  from  her  seat,  took  the  arm  of 
Sarah,  overtook  M.  Charles  Robert,  who  was  boiling  over  with 
rage,  and  whispered  to  him,  as  she  passed, — 

"  TO-MORROW,  AT  ONE  O'CLOCK,  I  WILL  BE  THERE." 

Then,  regaining  the  gallery  with  the  countess,  she  immediately 
quitted  the  ball. 

Rodolph,  in  appearing  at  this  fete,  besides  fulfilling  a  duty 
imposed  on  him  by  his  exalted  rank  and  place  in  society,  was 
further  influenced  by  the  earnest  desire  to  ascertain  how  far  his 
suspicions,  as  regarded  Madame  d'Harville,  were  well  founded, 
and  if  she  were,  indeed,  the  heroine  of  Madame  Pipelet's  account. 
After  quitting  the  winter-garden  with  the  Countess  de  *  *  *  *  he 
had,  in  vain,  traversed  the  various  salons  in  the  hopes  of  meeting 
Madame  d'Harville  alone.  He  was  returning  to  the  hot-house 
when,  being  momentarily  delayed  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  he  was 
witness  to  the  rapid  scene  between  Madame  d'Harville  and  M. 
Charles  Robert  after  the  joke  played  off  by  the  Duke  de  Lucenay. 
The  significant  glances  exchanged  between  Clemence  and  the 
commandant  struck  Rodolph  powerfully,  and  impressed  him  with 
the  firm  conviction  that  this  tall  and  prepossessing  individual 
was  the  mysterious  lodger  of  the  Rue  du  Temple.  Wishing  for 
still  further  confirmation  of  the  idea,  he  returned  to  the  gallery. 
A  waltz  was  about  to  commence,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few 
minutes  he  saw  M.  Charles  Robert  standing  in  the  door- 
way, evidently  reveling  in  the  satisfaction  of  his  own  ideas; 
enjoying,  in  the  first  place,  the  recollection  of  his  own  retort 
to  M.  de  Lucenay  (for  M.  Charles  Robert,  spite  of  his  egregious 
folly  and  vanity,  was  by  no  means  destitute  of  bravery),  and, 
secondly,  reveling  in  the  triumph  of  thus  obtaining  a  voluntary 
assignation  with  Madame  d'Harville  for  the  morrow;  and  some- 
thing assured  him  that  this  time  she  would  be  punctual. 
Rodolph  sought  for  Murphy. 

"  Do  you  see  that  fair  young  man,"  said  he,  u  standing  in  the 
midst  of  that  group  out  "there?" 


THE  BALL.  249 

"  You  mean  the  tall  individual  who  seems  so  much  amused 
with  his  own  thoughts,  do  you  not  ? — yes,  yes,  I  see  him." 

"Endeavor  to  get  sufficiently  near  to  him  to  be  enabled  to 
whisper,  so  that  he  alone  can  catch  the  words,  while  you  carefully 
avoid  allowing  him  to  see  the  person  who  utters  them,  this 
sentence, — '  You  ARE  LATE,  MY  ANGEL  ! '  '• 

The  squire  gazed  at  Rodolph  with  a  perplexed  air. 

"My  lord,  do  you  seriously  wish  me  to  do  this?" 

"  Seriously,  my  dear  Murphy,  I  do ;  and  should  he  hastily  turn 
round  when  you  have  spoken,  assume  that  incomparable  air  of 
perfect  nonchalance  for  which  you  are  so  justly  celebrated,  so 
as  to  prevent  his  being  able  to  fix  upon  you  as  the  person  who 
has  spoken." 

"  Depend  upon  my  perfect  obedience,  my  lord,  although  I  am 
far  from  having  the  slightest  idea  of  your  intention  in  assign- 
ing to  me  such  a  task." 

Before  the  conclusion  of  the  waltz,  the  worthy  Murphy  had 
contrived  to  place  himself  immediately  behind  M.  Charles 
Robert,  while  Eodolph,  posted  in  a  situation  most  advantageous 
for  watching  the  effect  of  his  experiment,  carefully  observed 
Murphy's  movements.  In  a  minute,  M.  Charles  Robert  turned 
suddenly  round,  as  though  struck  with  astonishment  and  wonder. 
The  immovable  squire  stirred  not  a  feature;  and  certainly 
Murphy's  tall,  portly  figure,  bald  head,  and  grave,  composed 
countenance,  appeared  the  least  likely  of  any  in  the  room  to  be 
those  of  a  man  taking  part  in  such  a  trick;  and,  indeed, 
it  was  evident,  from  the  continued  gaze  of  the  commandant  in 
every  other  part  of  the  space  they  stood  in,  that  M.  Charles 
Robert  was  far  from  suspecting  his  respectable,  middle-aged 
neighbor  of  giving  utterance  to  a  phrase  so  disagreeably  recall- 
ing the  quid  pro  quo  of  which  Madame  Pipelet  had  been  alike 
the  cause  and  the  heroine.  The  waltz  concluded,  Murphy  re- 
joined Rodolph. 

"  Well,  my  lord,"  said  he,  "  that  smart  young  gentleman 
jumped  as  though  he  had  trodden  on  a  hornet's  nest :  the  words 
I  uttered  appeared  to  have  the  effect  of  magic  on  him." 

"  They  were  so  far  magical,  my  dear  Murphy,  as  they  assisted 
me  to  discover  a  circumstance  I  was  most  anxious  to  find  out." 

Conviction  thus  painfully  obtained,  Rodolph  could  only 
deplore  the  dangerous  position  in  which  Madame  d'Harville 
had  placed  herself,  and  which  seemed  to  him  fraught  with  fresh 
evils,  from  a  vague  presentiment  of  Sarah's  being  either  a 
sharer  or  a  confidant  in  the  transaction,  and  with  this  discovery 
came  the  fresh  pain  of  believing  that  he  had  now  found  out 


250  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

the  source  of  M.  d'Harville's  secret  sorrow ;  the  man  he  so  highly 
esteemed,  and  for  whom  he  felt  a  brother's  regard,  was  pining 
in  silence  over  the  misconduct  of  a  wife  he  so  tenderly  loved, 
yet  who,  spite  of  her  many  charming  qualities,  could  sacrifice 
her  own  and  husband's  happiness  for  the  sake  of  an  object  so 
every  way  unworthy.  Master  of  so  important  a  secret,  yet 
incapable  of  betraying  it,  unable  to  devise  any  plan  to  open  the 
eyes  of  Madame  d'Harville,  who  seemed  rather  to  yield  to  than 
resist  her  unlicensed  passion  for  her  lover,  Kodolph  found  him- 
self obliged  to  remain  a  passive  witness  lo  the  utter  ruin  of  a 
woman  he  had  so  passionately  adored  with  as  much  silence  as 
devotion;  nay,  whom,  spite  of  his  best  efforts,  he  still  loved. 
He  was  roused  from  these  reflections  by  M.  de  Graiin. 

"  If  your  royal  highness,"  said  the  baron,  bowing,  "  will 
deign  to  grant  me  a  brief  interview  in  one  of  the  lower  rooms, 
which  is  now  quite  devoid  of  company,  I  shall  have  the  honor 
to  lay  before  you  the  particulars  you  desired  me  to  collect." 

Eodolph  signed  to  M.  de  Graiin  to  conduct  him  to  the  place 
named,  when  the  baron  proceeded  with  his  recital,  as  fol- 
lows : — 

"  The  only  duchess  to  whose  name  the  initials  '  N.'  and  f  L.' 
can  possibly  belong  is  Madame  de  Lucenay,  whose  maiden  name 
was  Normant.  Her  grace  is  not  here  this  evening:  I  have  just 
seen  M.  de  Lucenay,  her  husband,  who,  it  seems,  left  Paris  about 
five  months  ago,  with  the  expressed  intention  of  traveling  in 
the  East  during  the  next  year  or  two,  but  has  unexpectedly  re- 
turned within  the  last  day  or  two." 

It  may  be  recollected  that,  during  Kodolph's  visit  to  the 
Rue  du  Temple,  he  picked  up,  on  the  landing-place  adjoining  the 
door  of  the  charlatan  dentist's  apartments,  a  cambric  handker- 
chief, richly  embroidered  and  trimmed  with  costly  lace,  and 
bearing  in  the  corner  a  ducal  coronet  with  the  initials  "  N.  L." 
It  will  also  be  borne  in  mind  that  this  elegant  indication  of  high 
rank  was  wetted  with  the  bitter  tears  of  its  noble  owner.  In 
pursuance  of  his  instructions,  but  in  total  ignorance  of  the 
circumstances  suggesting  them,  M.  de  Graiin  had  inquired  the 
name  of  every  duchess  then  in  Paris,  and  gleaned  the  informa- 
tion now  repeated  to  Rodolph,  and  which  the  latter  perfectly 
comprehended.  He  had  no  reason  for  interesting  himself  in  the 
fate  of  Madame  de  Lucenay;  but  he  could  not  reflect  without  a 
shudder,  that  if  it  were  really  she  who  visited  the  pretended 
doctor  (but  who,  he  felt  assured,  was  no  other  than  the  infamous 
Polidori),  this  wretch  having  possessed  himself  of  her  real 
name  and  address  through  the  agency  of  Tortillard,  might  make 


THE  BALL.  251 

a  fearful  use  of  a  secret  which  placed  the  duchess  so  completely 
in  his  power. 

"  Chance  is  a  strange  thing,  my  lord,  is  it  not  ?  "  resumed  M. 
de  Graiin. 

"  It  is ;  but  how  does  it  apply  to  the  present  case  ?  " 

"  Why,  at  the  very  instant  that  M.  de  Grangeneuve  was  giv- 
ing me  these  facts  concerning  M.  and  Madame  de  Lucenay,  and 
was  adding,  rather  ill-naturedly,  that  the  unlooked-for  return 
of  the  duke  must  have  proved  particularly  disagreeable,  not  only 
to  the  duchess  but  to  the  Viscount  de  Saint-Remy,  one  of  the 
most  elegant  and  fashionable  young  men  in  Paris,  his  excellency 
the  ambassador  came  up  and  inquired  whether  your  royal  high- 
ness would  permit  him  to  present  the  viscount  to  you,  as  having 
just  been  appointed  on  the  legation  to  Gerolstein,  he  would  be 
happy  to  avail  himself  of  the  present  opportunity  of  paying  his 
court  to  your  highness." 

An  expression  of  impatience  escaped  Rodolph,  who  ex- 
claimed,— 

"  Nothing  could  have  been  less  agreeable  to  me.  However,  it 
is  impossible  to  refuse.  Let  the  count  know,  therefore,  that 
I  am  ready  to  receive  M.  de  Saint-Remy." 

Rodolph  knew  too  well  how  to  support  his  princely  dignity, 
to  allow  his  feelings  to  interfere  with  the  courtesy  and  affability 
required  on  the  present  occasion;  added  to  which,  the  world 
gave  M.  de  Saint-Remy  as  a  favored  lover  to  the  Duchess  de 
Lucenay,  and  this  circumstance  greatly  excited  the  curiosity  of 
Rodolph. 

The  Viscount  de  Saint-Remy,  conducted  by  the  Count  de 
*  *  *,  now  approached.  He  was  an  exceedingly  handsome 
young  man,  of  about  twenty-five  years  of  age,  tall  and  slender, 
with  the  most  distingue  air  and  prepossessing  physiognomy; 
his  olive  complexion  had  that  rich  soft  glow  of  amber  cast  over 
its  transparent  surface,  so  remarkable  in  the  paintings  of  Mu- 
rillo ;  his  glossy  black  hair,  parted  over  his  left  temple,  was  worn 
smooth  over  his  forehead,  and  fell  in  light  and  easy  curls  down 
the  sides  of  his  face,  almost  concealing  the  pale,  well-shaped 
ear.  The  deep,  dark  eyelash  contrasted  well  with  the  clear  eye 
it  shaded,  the  crystal  of  which  was  tinged  with  that  pale  blue 
cast  which  bestows  so  much  and  such  charming  expression  to  the 
Indian  eye.  By  a  singular  caprice  of  Nature,  the  thick  silky 
mustache  which  graced  his  lip  was  the  only  ornament  of  a 
similar  description  visible  on  his  countenance,  the  chin  and 
cheeks  being  smooth  as  those  of  a  young  maiden.  Perhaps  it 
might  be  vanity  which  dictated  the  narrow  black  satin  cravat, 


252  THE  MYSTERIES  OF1  PARIS. 

placed  so  low  as  to  reveal  the  perfect  contour  of  a  throat  which, 
for  whiteness  and  symmetrical  roundness,  might  have  furnished 
a  model  for  the  artist's  studio.  The  long  ends  of  his  cravat 
were  confined  by  a  single  pearl,  inestimable  for  its  size,  the 
beauty  of  its  shape,  and  the  splendor  of  its  color — so  vivid,  that 
an  opal  could  scarcely  have  rivaled  its  continued  prismatic 
changes.  The  perfect  taste  and  exquisite  style  of  M.  de  Saint- 
Remy  harmonized  well  with  the  magnificent  simplicity  of 
this  jewel. 

Once  seen,  the  face  and  figure  of  M.  de  Saint-Eemy  was 
never  forgotten,  so  entirely  did  it  differ  from  the  usual  style  of 
elegants.  He  spared  no  expense  in  procuring  the  most  fault- 
less turn-out,  and  his  carriage  and  horse  were  everywhere 
cited  as  models  of  taste  and  correct  judgment.  He  played 
high,  but  skilfully;  while  the  annual  amount  of  his  betting- 
book  was  never  less  than  from  two  to  three  thousand  louis.  The 
costly  elegance  of  his  mansion,  in  the  Rue  de  Chaillot,  was 
everywhere  spoken  of  and  admired.  There  he  gave  the  most 
exquisite  dinner-parties.  The  highest  play  followed,  and  the 
hospitable  host  would  lose  large  and  heavy  sums  with  the  most 
perfect  indifference,  though  it  was  known  that  his  fortune  had 
been  dissipated  long  ago.  All  the  viscount's  property  had  been 
derived  from  his  mother;  while  his  father  lived  in  utter  seclu- 
sion in  the  wilds  of  Anjou,  upon  an  income  of  the  most  slender 
description. 

By  way  of  accounting  for  the  unbounded  expenditure  of  M. 
de  Saint-Remy,  many  among  the  envious  or  ill-natured  referred, 
as  Sarah  had  done,  to  the  large  fortune  of  the  Duchess  de 
Lucenay;  but  they  forgot  that,  setting  aside  the  infamy  of  the 
idea,  M.  de  Lucenay  would  naturally  direct  the  disposal  of  his 
wife's  property,  and  that  M.  de  Saint-Remy's  annual  expenses 
were  at  least  two  hundred  thousand  francs.  Suspicions  were 
entertained  of  his  being  deeply  indebted  to  imprudent  money- 
lenders; for  Saint-Remy  had  no  further  inheritance  to  look 
forward  to.  Others,  again,  spoke  of  his  great  successes  on 
the  turf,  and  hinted,  in  an  undertone,  dark  stories  of  training- 
grounds,  and  jockeys  bribed  by  him  to  make  the  horses  against 
which  he  had  betted  largely  lose;  but  by  far  the  greater  number 
of  the  crowd  by  which  Saint-Remy  was  surrounded  were  con- 
tent to  eat  his  dinners,  and  occasionally  to  win  his  rouleaux, 
without  troubling  themselves  with  conjectures  as  to  how  the  one 
was  provided,  and  where  the  other  came  from. 

By  birth  and  education,  he  was  fully  entitled  to  the  rank  he 
occupied  in  the  fashionable  world ;  he  was  lively,  witty,  brave,  a 


'THE  BALL  253 

most  amusing  companion,  obliging  and  complaisant  to  the 
wishes  of  others;  he  gave  first-rate  bachelor  dinners,  and  after- 
wards took  every  bet  that  was  offered  him.  What  more  was 
required  to  secure  his  popularity  ?  He  was  an  universal  favorite 
with  the  fair  sex,  and  could  boast  the  most  unvaried  success 
in  all  his  love  affairs;  he  was  young,  handsome,  gallant,  and 
unsparingly  munificent  upon  all  occasions  where  opportunities 
occurred  of  marking  his  devotion  towards  the  high-bred  females 
with  whom  he  associated  in  the  grande  monde;  in  a  word,  thanks 
to  the  general  infatuation  he  excited,  the  air  of  mystery  thrown 
over  the  source  of  the  Pactolus  from  which  he  derived  his 
golden  supplies  rather  embellished  him  with  a  certain  mysteri- 
ous charm,  which  seemed  but  to  add  to  his  attractions.  Some- 
times it  would  be  said,  with  a  careless  smile,  "What  a  fellow 
that  Saint-Remy  is!  he  must  have  discovered  the  philosopher's 
stone  to  be  able  to  go  the  pace  he  does."  And  when  it  was 
known  that  he  had  caused  himself  to  be  attached  to  the  legation 
of  France  to  the  court  of  Gerolstein,  there  were  not  wanting 
voices  to  assert  that  it  was  a  "  devilish  "  good  way  of  making  an 
"  honorable  retreat"  Such  was  M.  de  Saint-Remy. 

"Allow  me,"  said  the  Count  de  *  *  *,  presenting  M.  de 
Saint-Remy,  "  to  introduce  to  your  royal  highness  the  Viscount 
de  Saint-Remy,  attached  to  the  embassy  of  Gerolstein." 

The  viscount  bowed  profoundly,  saying, — 

"  May  I  trust  your  royal  highness  will  deign  to  pardon  my 
impatience  in  requesting  the  honor  of  this  introduction  during 
the  present  evening.  I  am,  perhaps,  unduly  hasty  in  my  wishes 
to  secure  a  gratification  I  have  so  long  aspired  to." 

"  It  will  give  me  much  pleasure,  my  lord,  to  welcome  you  to 
Gerolstein.  Do  you  propose  going  thither  immediately?" 

"  Your  royal  highness  being  in  Paris  diminishes  very  ma- 
terially my  desire  to  do  so." 

"I  fear  the  peaceful  contrast  of  our  German  courts  will 
scarcely  assort  with  a  life  of  Parisian  fashion,  such  as  you  have 
always  been  accustomed  to." 

"  Permit  me  to  assure  your  royal  highness  that  the  gracious 
kindness  you  have  now  shown  me,  and  which  it  shall  be  my 
study  to  merit  a  continuance  of  in  Gerolstein,  would  of  itself 
far  outweigh  any  attractions  Paris  may  have  had  for  me." 

"  It  will  not  be  my  fault,  my  lord,  should  you  see  cause  to 
alter  your  sentiments  when  at  Gerolstein." 

A  slight  inclination  of  Rodolph's  head  announced  that  the 
presentation  wns  concluded,  upon  which  the  viscount  bowed  nnrl 
retired.  The  prince,  a  practised  physiognomist,  was  subject  to 


$54  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

involuntary  likes  and  dislikes  upon  the  first  interview  with  an 
individual,  and  these  impulses  were  in  his  case  almost  invari- 
ably borne  out  by  after-circumstances.  His  first  sensation  after 
the  exchange  of  the  very  few  words  we  have  related  between 
himself  and  Saint-Remy  was  an  unaccountable  feeling  of  re- 
pugnance and  aversion  for  the  gay  and  fascinating  young  man : 
to  his  eye,  the  handsome  features  wore  a  sinister  look,  and 
danger  seemed  to  lurk  even  in  his  honeyed  words  and  smooth 
polished  manner. 

We  shall  hereafter  meet  M.  de  Saint-Kenny  under  circum- 
stances differing  widely  and  fearfully  from  the  splendor  of  the 
position  he  occupied  at  his  first  interview  with  Rodolph.  It 
will  then  be  seen  how  far  these  presentiments  were  ill  or  well 
founded. 

The  presentation  over,  Rodolph,  in  deep  meditation  upon  the 
singular  rencounters  effected  by  the  hand  of  chance,  bent  his  steps 
towards  the  winter-garden.  It  was  now  the  hour  of  supper,  and 
the  rooms  were  nearly  deserted.  The  most  retired  spot  in  the 
hot-house  was  at  the  end  of  a  clump  of  trees  placed  against  the 
corner  of  a  wall,  and  an  enormous  banana,  covered  with  climb- 
ing plants,  effectually  concealed  a  small  side  door,  masked  by 
the  trellis,  and  conducting  to  the  banqueting-hall  by  a  long 
corridor.  This  door,  which  was  scarcely  a  yard  distant  from 
the  tree  above  mentioned,  had  been  left  temporarily  ajar.  Shel- 
tered by  this  verdant  screen,  Eodolph  seated  himself,  and  was 
soon  lost  in  a  profound  reverie,  when  the  sound  of  a  well-known 
voice,  pronouncing  his  name,  made  Rodolph  start.  It  was 
Sarah,  who,  seated  with  her  brother  Tom  on  the  other  side  of 
the  clump  of  trees  which  effectually  hid  Rodolph  from  their 
view,  was  conversing  with  him  in  the  English  language.  The 
prince  listened  attentively,  and  the  following  dialogue  ensued : — 

"  The  marquise  has  just  gone  to  show  herself  for  a  few 
minutes  at  Baron  de  Nerval's  ball,"  said  Sarah ;  "  she  has  luck- 
ily quitted  this  place  without  once  having  an  opportunity  of 
exchanging  a  word  with  Rodolph,  who  has  been  looking  every- 
where for  her.  I  still  dread  the  influence  he  possesses  over 
her,  even  unknown  to  herself, — an  influence  it  has  cost  me  so 
much  labor  and  difficulty  to  combat,  and  partly  to  destroy. 
However,  to-morrow  will  rid  me  of  any  further  fears  of  a  rival, 
who,  if  not  effectually  destroyed,  might  so  powerfully  derange 
and  overthrow  my  plans.  Listen  to  me,  brother,  for  it  is  of 
serious  matters  I  would  speak  to  you.  To-morrow  witnesses  the 
eternal  ruin  of  my  hated  rival." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Sarah,"  answered  Tom's  well-remem- 


TUB  BALL.  255 

bered  voice ;  "  Rodolph  never  loved  the  marquise :  of  that  I  am 
certain;  your  jealous  fears  mislead  you." 

"  It  is  time,"  returned  Sarah,  "  that  I  enlightened  you  on 
this  subject.  Many  things  occurred  during  your  last  journey, 
and  as  it  is  necessary  to  take  decisive  steps  even  earlier  than 
I  had  expected — nay,  this  very  night — so  soon  as  we  quit  this 
place,  it  becomes  indispensably  necessary  we  should  take  seri- 
ous counsel  together.  Happily  we  are  now  quite  alone,  for 
the  gay  butterflies  of  the  night  have  found  fresh  attraction 
around  the  supper  tables.  Now,  then,  brother,  give  your  close 
and  undivided  attention  to  what  I  am  about  to  say." 

"  Proceed,  I  am  all  impatience." 

"Well,  before  Clemence  d'Harville  met  Eodolph,  I  feel  as- 
sured the  passion  of  love  was  wholly  unknown  to  her,  for  what 
reason  I  have  never  been  able  to  discover.  She  entertains  the 
most  invincible  repugnance  and  aversion  towards  her  husband, 
who  perfectly  adores  her.  There  is  some  deep  mystery  in  this 
part  of  the  business  I  have  never  succeeded  in  fathoming.  A 
thousand  new  and  delightful  emotions  sprung  up  in  the  breast 
of  Clemence  after  she  became  acquainted  with  Rodolph;  but  I 
stifled  her  growing  love  by  the  most  frightful  disclosures,  or 
rather  ingeniously  invented  calumnies,  concerning  the  prince. 
Still,  the  void  in  her  heart  required  an  object  to  fill  it,  and 
chance  having  thrown  JVf.  Charles  Robert  in  her  way  during  a 
morning  call  she  was  making  at  my  house,  she  appeared  struck 
with  his  appearance,  much  after  the  manner  in  which  we  are 
attracted  by  a  fine  picture.  Unfortunately,  however,  this  man 
is  as  silly  as  he  is  handsome,  though  he  certainly  has  a  very 
prepossessing  tout  ensemble.  I  praised  him  enthusiastically  to 
Madame  d'Harville,  exalted  the  nobleness  of  his  sentiments,  the 
elevation  of  his  mind,  and,  as  I  knew  her  weak  side,  I  worked  upon 
her  sympathy  and  pity,  by  representing  him  as  loaded  with  every 
trouble  and  affliction  unrelenting  fate  could  heap  upon  a  devoted 
but  most  innocent  head.  I  directed  M.  Robert  to  assume  a 
melancholy  and  sentimental  air ;  to  utter  only  deep  sighs ;  and  to 
preserve  a  gloomy  and  unbroken  silence  in  the  presence  of 
Madame  d'Harville.  He  carefully  pursued  the  path  marked  out 
by  me,  and,  thanks  to  his  vocal  skill,  his  fine  person,  and  the 
constant  expression  of  silent  suffering,  so  far  engaged  the  interest 
of  Madame  d'Harville,  that,  ere  long,  she  transferred  to  my 
handsome  friend  the  warm  and  sympathizing  regard  Rodolph 
had  first  awakened.  Do  you  comprehend  me  thus  far?" 

"  Perfectly ;  proceed."  ' 

"  Madame  d'Harville  and  Robert  met  only  upon  terms  of  in- 


256  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

timacy  at  my  house;  to  draw  them  more  effectually  together  I 
projected  devoting  three  mornings  in  the  week  to  music,  and 
my  mournful  ally  sighed  softly  as  the  breath  of  evening  while 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  music,  ventured  to  utter  a  few  im- 
passioned words,  and  even  to  slip  two  or  three  billets  among 
the  pieces  he  copied  out  for  the  marquise  to  practise  at  home. 
I  own  I  was  more  fearful  of  his  epistolary  efforts  than  even  his 
powers  of  speech;  but  a  woman  always  looks  indulgently  upon 
the  first  declaration  of  love  she  receives;  so  far,  therefore,  the 
written  nonsense  of  my  silly  pupil  did  no  harm,  for,  in  obedi- 
ence to  my  advice,  his  billets  doux  were  very  laconic.  The 
great  point  was  to  obtain  a  rendezvous,  and  this  was  no  easy 
matter,  for  Clemence's  principles  were  stronger  than  her  love; 
or,  rather,  her  passion  was  not  sufficiently  deep  to  induce  her 
to  sacrifice  those  principles.  Unknown,  even  to  herself,  the 
image  of  Rodolph  still  filled  her  heart,  and  seemed  in  a  manner 
to  preserve  her  from  yielding  to  her  weak  fancy  for  M.  Charles 
Robert— a  fancy,  as  I  well  knew,  far  more  imaginary  than  real ; 
but  led  on  by  my  continual  and  exaggerated  praises  of  this . 
brainless  Apollo,  whom  I  persisted  in  describing  as  suffering 
under  the  daily  increase  of  every  imaginary  evil  I  could  invent, 
Clemence,  vanquished  by  the  deep  despair  of  her  dejected  adorer, 
consented  one  day,  more  from  pity  than  love,  to  grant  him  the 
rendezvous  so  long  desired." 

"  Did  she,  then,  make  you  her  confidant  ?  " 

"  She  confessed  to  me  her  regard  for  M.  Charles  Eobert — 
nothing  more;  neither  did  I  seek  to  learn  more,  it  would  only 
have  annoyed  and  vexed  her.  But,  as  for  him,  boiling  over 
with  love,  or,  rather,  intoxicated  with  pride,  he  came  volun- 
tary to  impart  his  good  fortune,  without,  however,  intrusting 
me  either  with  the  time  or  place  of  the  intended  meeting.'* 

"  How,  then,  did  you  know  it?" 

"  Why,  Karl,  by  my  order,  hovered  about  the  door  of  M. 
Robert  during  the  following  day  from  an  early  hour;  nothing, 
however,  transpired  till  the  next  day,  when  our  love-stricken 
youth  proceeded  in  a  -fiacre  to  an  obscure  part  of  the  town,  and 
finally  alighted  before  a  mean-looking  house  in  the  Rue  du 
Temple ;  there  he  remained  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  when  he  came 
out  and  walked  away.  Karl  waited  a  long  while  to  see  whether 
any  person  followed  M.  Charles  Robert  out  of  the  house;  but 
no  one  came.  The  marquise  had  evidently  failed  in  her  ap- 
pointment. This  was  confirmed  to  me  on  the  morrow  when  the 
lover  came  to  pour  out  all  his  rage  and  disappointment.  I 
advised  him  to  assume  even  an  increase  of  wretchedness  and 


THE  BALL.  257 

despair.  The  plan  succeeded — the  pity  of  Clemence  was  again 
excited;  and  a  fresh  assignation  was  wrung  from  her,  but  which 
she  failed  to  keep  equally  with  the  former:  the  third  and  last 
rendezvous,  however,  produced  more  decided  effects,  Madame 
d'Harville  positively  going  as  far  as  the  door  of  the  house  I  have 
specified  as  the  appointed  place;  then  repenting  so  rash  a  step, 
returned  home  without  having  even  quitted  the  humble  fiacre  in 
which  she  rode.  You  may  judge  by  all  these  capricious 
changes  of  purpose  how  this  woman  struggles  to  be  free.  And 
wherefore?  Why,  because  (and  hence  arises  my  bitter,  deadly 
hatred  to  Clemence  d'Harville)  because  the  recollection  of 
Rodolph  still  lingers  in  her  heart,  and,  with  pertinacious  love 
she  shrinks  from  aught  that  she  fancies  breathes  of  preference 
for  another;  thus  shielding  herself  from  harm  or  danger  be- 
neath his  worshiped  image.  Now  this  very  night  the  mar- 
quise has  made  a  fresh  assignation  with  M.  Charles  Robert  for 
to-morrow,  and  this  time  I  doubt  not  her  punctuality:  the 
Duke  de  Lucenay  has  so  grossly  ridiculed  this  young  man  that, 
carried  away  by  pity  for  the  humiliation  of  her  admirer,  the 
marquise  has  granted  that  to  compassion  he  would  not  else  have 
obtained.  But  this  time,  I  feel  persuaded,  she  will  keep  her 
word,  and  be  punctual  to  the  appointed  time  and  hour." 

"  And  how  do  you  propose  to  act  ?  " 

"  M.  Charles  Robert  is  so  perfectly  unable  to  comprehend  the 
delicacy  of  feeling  which  this  evening  dictated  the  marquise's 
resolution  of  meeting  him,  that  he  is  safe  to  rush  with  vulgar 
eagerness  to  the  rendezvous,  and  this  will  effectually  ruin  his 
plans,  for  pity  alone  has  instigated  Clemence  to  take  this  com- 
promising step.  No  love — no  infatuation  has  hurried  her  into 
a  measure  so  fatal  to  her  future  resolution !  I  know  every  turn 
of  her  mind ;  and  I  am  confident  she  will  keep  her  appointment 
solely  from  a  courageous  idea  of  generous  devotion,  but  with 
a  firm  resolve  not  for  one  instant  to  forget  her  duties  as  a  wife 
and  mother.  Now  the  coarse,  vulgar  mind  of  M.  Charles  Robert 
is  sure  to  take  the  fullest  advantage  of  the  marquise's  concession 
in  his  favor.  Clemence  will  detest  him  from  that  instant;  and 
the  illusion  once  destroyed  which  has  bound  herself  and  Charles 
Robert  in  bonds  of  imaginary  sympathy,  she  will  fall  again 
beneath  the  influence  of  her  love  for  Rodolph,  which  I  am 
certain  still  nestles  in  her  heart." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well !  I  would  have  her  forever  lost  to  Rodolph,  whose 
high  sense  of  honor,  and  deep  friendship  for  M.  d'Harville  I 
feel  perfectly  sure  would  not  have  proved  equal  to  preventing 


258  TEE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

his  returning  the  love  of  Clemence ;  but  I  will  so  manage  things 
that  he  shall  henceforward  look  upon  her  with  loathing  and 
disgust,  as  the  guilty  partner  in  a  crime  committed  without  his 
participation.  No,  no !  I  know  my  man.  He  might  pardon 
the  offense,  but  never  the  being  excluded  from  his  share  in 
it/' 

"  Then  do  you  propose  apprising  the  husband  of  all  that  is 
going  on,  so  that  the  prince  should  learn  the  disgraceful  cir- 
cumstances from  the  publicity  the  affair  would  obtain  ?  " 

"  I  do.  And  the  thing  is  so  much  the  easier  to  accomplish  as, 
from  what  fell  from  Clemence  to-night,  I  can  learn  that  the 
marquis  has  vague  and  undefined  suspicions,  without  knowing 
on  whom  to  fix  them.  It  is  now  midnight,  we  shall  almost 
directly  leave  the  ball,  I  will  set  you  down  at  the  first  cafe  we 
meet  with,  whence  you  shall  write  M.  d'Harville  a  minute  ac- 
count of  his  wife's  love  affair,  with  the  projected  assignation 
of  to-morrow,  with  the  time  and  place  where  it  is  arranged  to 
take  place.  Oh !  but  I  forgot,  I  didn't  state  that  the  place  of 
meeting  is  No.  17  Eue  du  Temple.  And  the  time,  to-morrow  at 
one  o'clock.  The  marquis  is  already  jealous  of  Clemence,  well, 
he  will  by  this  information  surprise  her  under  most  suspicious 
circumstances :  the  rest  follows  as  a  matter  of  course." 

"  But  this  is  a  most  abominable  mode  of  action,"  said  Seyton, 
coldly. 

"  What !  my  trusty  and  well-beloved  brother  and  colleague 
growing  scrupulous  ? "  said  Sarah,  sarcastically.  "  This  will 
never  do;  suppose  my  modes  of  action  are  odious — so  be  it.  I 
trample  on  all  and  everything  that  interferes  with  my  designs 
— agreed.  I  do — I  shall,  till  I  have  secured  my  purpose.  But 
let  me  ask  you,  Who  thought  of  scruples  when  my  destruction 
was  aimed  at?  Who  thought  of  me  or  my  feelings?  let  me  ask 
you.  How  have  I  been  treated  ?  " 

"  Say  no  more,  sister — say  no  more — here  is  my  hand,  and 
you  may  safely  reckon  upon  my  firm  participation  in  all  that 
concerns  you,  even  to  writing  the  letter  to  M.  d'Harville.  But 
still  I  say,  and  repeat  such  conduct  is  horrible ! " 

"  Never  mind  sermonizing,  but  say,  do  you  consent  fully  and 
entirely  to  do  what  I  wish  you,  or  do  you  not  ?  ay,  or  nay  ?  " 

"  Since  it  must  be  so,  M.  d'Harville  shall  this  night  be  fully 
instructed  as  to  all  his  wife's  proceedings — but — what  is  that? 
I  fancied  I  heard  some  one  on  the  other  side  of  this  thicket — 
there  was  a  rustling  of  leaves  and  branches,"  said  Seyton,  inter- 
rupting himself,  and  speaking  to  Sarah  in  a  low  and  suppressed 
voice." 


THE  BALL,  259 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,"  cried  Sarah,  uneasily,  "  don't  stop  to 
talk  about  it,  but  quick !  and  examine  the  other  side  of  this 
place." 

Seyton  rose — made  the  tour  of  the  clump  of  trees — but  saw 
no  one. 

Rodolph  had  just  disappeared  by  the  side-door  of  which  we 
have  before  spoken. 

"  I  must  have  made  a  mistake,"  said  Seyton,  returning, 
"  there  is  no  appearance  of  any  persons  but  ourselves  being  in  this 
place." 

"  I  thought  there  could  not  possibly  be." 

"Now,  then,  Sarah,  hear  what  I  have  got  to  say  on  the 
subject  of  Madame  d'Harville,  who,  I  feel  quite  satisfied,  you 
make  an  object  of  unnecessary  apprehension,  as  far  as  it  would 
be  possible  for  her  to  interfere  with  your  schemes.  The  prince, 
moreover,  has  certain  principles  nothing  would  induce  him  to 
infringe.  I  am  infinitely  more  alarmed,  and  with  greater 
justice,  too,  as  to  what  can  have  been  his  intentions  in  con- 
ducting that  young  girl  to  his  farm  at  Bouqueval,  five  or  six 
weeks  ago.  He  is  constant  in  his  superintendence  of  her  health 
and  comfort;  is  having  her  well  educated,  and,  moreover,  has 
been  several  times  to  see  her.  Now  we  are  altogether  ignorant 
who  she  is  or  where  she  came  from;  she  seems,  however,  to  be- 
long only  to  the  humbler  ranks  of  society;  still  the  exquisite 
style  of  her  beauty,  the  fact  of  the  prince  having  worn  the  dis- 
guise he  did  when  escorting  her  to  the  farm,  the  increasing 
interest  he  seems  to  take  in  her  welfare,  all  go  to  prove  that  his 
regard  for  her  is  of  no  common  description.  I  have,  therefore, 
in  this  affair  anticipated  your  wishes ;  but  to  remove  this  greater 
and,  as  I  believe,  more  serious  obstacle  to  our  plans  the  ut- 
most circumspection  was  requisite  to  obtain  information  respect- 
ing the  lives  and  habits  of  these  mysterious  occupants  of  the 
farm,  and  particularly  concerning  the  girl  herself.  I  have  been 
fortunate  enough  to  learn  nearly  sufficient  to  point  out  what  is 
to  be  done  the  moment  for  action  has  arrived.  A  most  singular 
chance  threw  that  horrid  old  woman  in  my  way,  to  whom,  as 
you  remember,  I  once  gave  my  address,  which  she  it  seems  has 
carefully  preserved.  Her  connection  with  such  persons  as  the 
robber  who  attacked  us  during  our  late  visit  to  the  Cite  will 
powerfully  assist  us.  All  is  provided  for  and  pre-considered — 
there  can  be  no  proof  against  us — and,  besides,  if,  as  seems 
evident,  this  young  creature  belongs  to  the  humblest  class  of 
society,  it  is  not  very  probable  she  will  hesitate  between  our 
offers  and  the  splendid  prospect  she  may,  perchance,  picture 


260  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

to  herself,  for  the  prince,  I  have  ascertained,  has  preserved  a 
strict  incognito  towards  her.  But  to-morrow  shall  decide  the 
question  otherwise — we  shall  see — we  shall  see." 

"  And  these  two  obstacles  overcome,  then,  Tom,  for  our  grand 
project ! " 

"  There  are  many,  and  serious  obstacles  in  the  way ;  still  they 
may  be  overcome." 

"  And  would  it  not  be  a  lucky  chance  if  we  should  bring  it  to 
pass  at  the  very  moment  when  Rodolph  would  be  writhing  under 
the  double  misery  occasioned  by  the  disclosure  of  Madame 
d'Harville's  conduct,  and  the  disappearance  of  the  creature  for 
whom  he  chooses  to  evince  so  deep  an  interest?  Would  not 
that  be  an  auspicious  moment  ttf  persuade  him  that  the 
daughter,  whose  loss  he  daily  more  and  more  deplores,  still 
lives?  and  then " 

"  Silence,  sister,"  interrupted  Seyton,  "  I  hear  the  steps  of 
the  guests  from  the  supper-table,  returning  to  resume  the  ball. 
Since  you  deem  it  expedient  to  apprise  the  Marquis  d'Harville 
of  the  morrow's  rendezvous,  let  us  depart :  it  is  past  midnight." 

"  The  lateness  of  the  hour  in  which  the  anonymous  infor- 
mation will  reach  M.  d'Harville,  will  but  tend  still  more  to 
impress  him  with  an  idea  of  its  importance." 

And  with  these  words  Tom  and  Sarah  quitted  the  splendid 
ball  of  the  ambassadress  of  the  court  of  *  *  *  * 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE    RENDEZVOUS. 

DETERMINED  at  all  risks  to  warn  Madame  d'Harville  of  the 
danger  she  was  incurring,  Rodolph  had  quitted  the  winter- 
garden  without  waiting  to  hear  the  remainder  of  the  conversa- 
tion between  Sarah  and  her  brother,  thus  remaining  ignorant 
of  their  designs  against  Fleur-de-Marie,  and  of  the  extreme 
peril  which  threatened  the  poor  girl.  But,  spite  of  his  earnest 
desire  to  apprise  the  marquise  of  the  plot  laid  against  her 
peace  and  honor,  he  was  unable  to  carry  his  design  into  execu- 
tion, for  Madame  d'Harville,  unable  to  bear  up  longer  after 
the  trying  events  of  the  evening,  had  abandoned  her  original 
intention  of  visiting  the  entertainment  given  by  Madame  de 
Nerval  and  gone  direct  home. 

This  contretemps  ruined  his  hopes.     Nearly  the  whole  of  the 


TUB  RENDEZVOUS.  261 

company  present  at  the  ambassadress's  ball  had  been  invited  to 
that  of  Madame  de  Nerval's,  and  Rodolph  drove  rapidly  thither, 
taking  with  him  M.  de  Graiin;  to  whom  he  gave  instructions  to 
look  for  Madame  d'Harville  among  the  guests,  and  to  acquaint 
her  that  the  prince,  having  something  of  the  utmost  conse- 
quence to  communicate  to  her  without  the  least  delay,  would 
walk  onwards  to  the  Hotel  d'Harville,  and  await  her  return 
home,  when  he  would  say  a  few  words  at  the  carriage-door 
while  her  servants  were  attending  to  the  opening  of  the 
entrance-gates. 

After  much  time  spent  in  fruitless  endeavors  to  find  Madame 
d'Harville,  De  Graiin  was  compelled  to  return  with  the  account 
of  his  ill  success.  This  failure  made  Rodolph  despair  of  being 
able,  now,  to  save  the  marquise  from  impending  ruin:  his  first 
thought  had  been  to  warn  her  of  the  treachery  intended,  and 
so  prevent  the  statement  of  Sarah,  which  he  had  no  means  of 
keeping  from  the  hands  of  M.  d'Harville,  from  obtaining  the 
slightest  credence.  Alas !  it  was  now  too  late.  The  infamous 
epistle  dictated  by  the  Countess  Macgregor  had  reached  the 
Marquis  d'Harville  shortly  after  midnight  on  the  night  in 
question. 


It  was  morning;  and  M.  d'Harville  continued  slowly  to  pace 
his  sleeping  apartment,  the  bed  of  which  gave  no  indication  of 
having  been  used  during  the  night;  though  the  silken  counter- 
pane hung  in  fragments,  evidently  proving  that  some  power- 
ful and  devastating  storm  had  possessed  the  mind  of  its  owner. 

The  chamber  in  question  was  furnished  with  elegant  sim- 
plicity, its  only  ornaments  consisting  of  a  stand  of  modern  arms 
and  a  range  of  shelves  furnished  with  a  well  chosen  collection  of 
books.  Yet  a  sudden  frenzy,  or  the  hand  of  ungovernable  rage, 
had  reduced  the  quiet  elegance  which  ordinarily  reigned  to  a 
scene  of  frantic  disorder.  Chairs,  tables,  broken  and  overset; 
the  carpet  strewed  with  fragments  of  the  crystal  lamp  kept 
burning  through  the  night;  the  wax-lights  and  gilded  chan- 
delier which  had  contained  them  lying  around,  gave  manifest 
evidence  of  a  fearful  scene. 

M.  d'Harville  was  about  thirty  years  of  age,  with  a  fine, 
manly  countenance,  whose  usual  expression  was  mild  and  pre- 
possessing, but  now  contracted,  haggard,  and  livid.  He  had 
not  changed  his  dress  since  the  preceding  evening;  his  throat 
.was  bare,  his  waistcoat  thrown  open,  and  on  the  torn  and 


262  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

rumpled  cambric  of  his  shirt-front  were  drops  of  blood.  His 
rich,  dark  hair  which  generally  fell  in  curls  around  his  face  now 
hung  in  tangled  wildness  over  his  pale  countenance.  Wholly 
buried  in  the  misery  of  his  own  thoughts,  with  folded  arms, 
drooping  head,  and  fixed  bloodshot  eyes,  M.  d'Harville  continued 
to  pace  his  chamber;  then  stopping  opposite  his  fireplace  in 
which,  spite  of  the  almost  unendurable  severity  of  the  frost  of 
the  past  night,  the  fire  had  been  allowed  to  expire,  he  took  from 
the  marble  mantel-piece  the  following  brief  note,  which  he 
continued  to  read  over  and  over  with  the  most  eager  attention 
by  the  wan,  pale  light  of  the  cold  glimmer  of  an  early  winter- 
morning  : — 

"To-morrow,  at  one  o'clock,  your  wife  has  appointed  to  meet  her 
favored  lover.  Go  to  the  Rue  du  Temple,  No.  17,  and  you  will  obtain 
every  requisite  confirmation  of  this  intelligence. 

"FROM  ONE  WHO  PITIES  YOU." 

Whilst  reading  these  words,  perused  with  such  deep  anguish, 
and  sickness  of  heart,  so  many  times  through  the  long  midnight 
hours,  the  blue,  cold  lips  of  M.  d'Harville  appeared  convulsively 
to  spell  each  syllable  of  this  fatal  billet. 

At  this  moment  the  chamber  door  opened  and  a  servant 
entered:  the  man  who  now  made  his  appearance  was  old,  even 
gray-headed,  but  the  expression  of  his  countenance  was  frank 
and  honest.  The  noise  of  the  man  entering  disturbed  not  the 
marquis  from  his  bitter  contemplations;  he  merely  turned  his 
head  without  altering  his  position,  but  still  grasped  the  letter 
in  his  clenched  hands. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  inquired  he,  sternly,  of  the  servant. 

The  man,  instead  of  answering,  continued  to  gaze  with  an  air 
of  painful  surprise  at  the  disordered  state  of  the  room;  then, 
regarding  his  master  more  attentively,  exclaimed, — 

"  Blood  on  your  clothes !  my  lord,  my  lord !  how  is  this  ?  you 
have  hurt  yourself; — and  all  alone  too — why,  my  lord,  did 
you  not  summon  me,  as  of  old,  when  these  attacks  came  on  ?  " 

"Begone!" 

"  I  entreat  your  lordship's  pardon,  but  your  fire  is  out — the 
cold  is  intense — indeed,  I  must  remind  your  lordship  that  after 
your  late — your " 

"  Will  you  be  silent  ?  leave  me  I  say !  " 

"  Pray  do  not  be  angry,  my  lord,"  replied  the  trembling 
valet;  "but,  if  your  lordship  pleases  to  recollect,  you  appointed 
M.  Doublet  to  be  here  to-day  at  half  past  ten,  and  he  is  now 
waiting  with  the  notary," 


THE  RENDEZVOUS.  263 

"  Quite  proper,"  said  the  marquis,  with  a  bitter  smile ; 
"when  a  man  is  rich  he  ought,  he  should  look  carefully  to  his 
affairs.  Fortune  is  a  fine  thing — a  very  fine  thing;  or  would  be 
if  it  could  but  purchase  happiness."  Then,  resuming  a  cold  and 
collected  manner,  he  added, — 

"  Show  M.  Doublet  into  my  study." 

"  I  have  done  so,  my  lord  marquis." 

"  Then  give  me  my  clothes — quick,  I  am  in  haste — I  shall  be 
going  out  shortly.  I " 

"  But  if  your  lordship  would  only " 

"  Do  as  I  desire  you,  Joseph,"  said  M.  d'Harville,  in  a  more 
gentle  tone ;  then  added, — "  Is  your  lady  stirring  yet  ?  " 

"I  have  not  yet  heard  her  ladyship's  bell,  my  lord  marquis." 

"  Let  me  know  when  she  rings." 

"I  will,  my  lord." 

"  Heaven  and  earth,  man,  how  slow  you  are ! "  exclaimed 
M.  d'Harville,  whose  raging  thoughts  almost  chafed  him 
into  madness :  "  summon  Philip  to  assist  you :  you  will  keep  me 
all  day." 

"  My  lord,  please  to  allow  me  to  set  matters  a  little  straight 
first,"  replied  Joseph,  sorrowfully ;  "  I  would  much  rather  no 
one  but  myself  witnessed  the  state  of  your  chamber,  or  they 
would  wonder,  and  talk  about  it,  because  they  could  not  under- 
stand what  had  taken  place  during  the  night,  my  lord." 

"  And  if  they  were  to  find  out,  it  would  be  a  most  shocking 
affair, — would  it  not  ?  "  asked  M.  d'Harville,  in  a  tone  of  gloomy 
irony. 

"  Thank  God,  my  lord,  not  a  soul  in  the  house  has  the  least 
suspicion  of  it !  " 

"  No  one  suspects  it,"  repeated  M.  d'Harville,  despondingly, 
"  no  one — that's  well,  for  her  at  least — well,  let  us  hope  to  keep 
the  secret." 

And,  while  Joseph  was  occupying  himself  in  repairing  the 
havoc  in  his  master's  apartment,  d'Harville  walked  up  to  the 
stage  of  arms  we  before  mentioned;  examined  them  with  an 
expression  of  deep  interest,  then,  turning  toward  Joseph,  with 
a  sinister  smile,  said, — 

"  I  hope  you  have  not  omitted  to  clean  the  guns  which  are 
placed  at  the  top  of  the  stand — I  mean  those  in  my  hunting 
case." 

"  I  had  not  your  lordship's  orders  to  do  so,"  replied  the 
astonished  servant. 

"  You  had,  sir !  and  have  neglected  them  !  " 

"  I  humbly  assure  you,  my  lord !  " 


264  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  They  must  be  in  a  fine  state ! " 

"  Your  lordship  will  please  to  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  scarcely 
a  month  since  they  were  regularly  repaired  and  put  in  order  for 
use  by  the  gunsmith." 

"  Never  mind !  As  soon  as  I  am  dressed  reach  down  my 
shooting-case ;  I  will  examine  the  guns  myself.  I  may  very  pos- 
sibly go  out  shooting  either  to-morrow  or  next  day." 

"I  will  reach  them  down  directly,  my  lord/' 

The  chamber  being  by  this  time  replaced  in  its  ordinary  state, 
a  second  valet  de  chambre  was  summoned  to  assist  Joseph. 

His  toilette  concluded,  M.  d'Harville  repaired  to  his  study, 
where  the  steward  (M.  Doublet)  and  his  lawyer's  clerk  were 
awaiting  him. 

"  We  have  brought  the  agreement  that  my  lord  marquis  may 
hear  it  read  over,"  said  the  bowing  clerk;  "my  lord  will  then 
only  have  to  sign  it,  and  the  affair  is  concluded." 

"  Have  you  perused  it,  M.  Doublet  ?  " 

"  I  have,  my  lord,  attentively." 

"  In  that  case  I  will  affix  my  signature  at  once." 

The  necessary  forms  completed,  the  clerk  withdrew,  when 
M.  Doublet,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  looking  triumphantly,  ex- 
claimed,— 

"  Now,  then,  by  this  last  addition  to  your  lordship's  estates 
your  manorial  property  cannot  be  less  than  a  hundred  and 
twenty-six  thousand  francs  per  annum,  in  round  numbers.  And 
permit  me  to  say,  my  lord  marquis,  that  a  rent-roll  of  a  hundred 
and  twenty-six  thousand  francs  per  annum  is  of  no  common 
occurrence  now-a-days." 

"  I  am  a  happy  man,  am  I  not,  M.  Doublet  ?  A  hundred  and 
twenty-six  thousand  livres  per  annum !  Surely  the  man  owning 
such  an  income  must  be  blessed  indeed — sorrow  or  care  cannot 
reach  him  through  so  golden  a  shield." 

"  And  that  is  wholly  independent  of  my  lord's  funded 
property,  amounting  at  least  to  two  millions  more;  or  reckon- 
ing  " 

"  Exactly ;  I  know  what  you  would  say : — without  reckoning 
my  other  blessings  and  comforts." 

"Why,  Heaven  be  praised,  your  lordship  is  as  rich  in  all 
earthly  blessings  as  in  revenue.  Not  a  precious  gift  but  it  has 
been  largely  bestowed  upon  you ;  ay,  and  such  as  even  money  will 
not  buy:  youth,  uninterrupted  health,  the  power  of  enjoying 
every  happiness,  amongst  which,  or,  rather,  at  the  head  of 
which,"  said  M.  Doublet,  gracefully  smiling,  and  gallantly  bow- 
ing, "place  that  of  being  the  husband  of  so  sweet  a  lady  as 


THE  RENDEZVOUS.  265 

madame  la  marquise,  and  the  parent  of  a  lovely  little  girl,  who 
might  be  mistaken  for  a  cherubim." 

M.  d'Harville  cast  a  look  of  gloomy  mistrust  on  the  poor 
steward ;  who,  reveling  in  his  own  ecstasy  at  seeing  the  princely 
rent-roll  committed  to  his  charge,  exceeding  all  others  in  mag- 
nificent amount,  was  far  from  perceiving  the  scowling  brow  of 
his  master,  thus  congratulated  on  being  the  happiest  man  alive, 
when,  to  his  own  view,  a  verier  wretch,  or  more  complete  bank- 
rupt in  happiness  existed  not.  Striking  M.  Doublet  familiarly 
on  the  shoulder,  and  breaking  into  a  wild,  ironical  laugh,  M. 
d'Harville  rejoined, — 

"  Then  you  think  that  with  an  income  of  two  hundred  and 
sixty  thousand  livres,  a  wife  like  mine,  and  a  daughter  resem- 
bling a  cherubim,  a  man  has  nothing  more  to  wish  for?" 

"  Nay,  my  lord,"  replied  the  steward,  with  honest  zeal,  "  you 
have  still  to  wish  for  the  blessing  of  lengthened  days  that  you 
may  be  spared  to  see  mademoiselle  married  as  happily  as  your- 
self. Ah !  my  lord,  I  may  not  hope  to  see  it,  but  I  should  be 
thankful  to  witness  you  and  my  honored  lady  surrounded  by 
your  grandchildren — ay,  and  great-grandchildren  too — why 
not  ?  " 

"  Excellent !  Monsieur  Doublet :  a  regular  Baucis  and  Phile- 
mon idea.  You  have  always  a  capital  illustration  to  your  ideas." 

"  You  are  too  good  to  me,  my  lord.  Has  your  lordship  any 
further  orders  for  me  ?  " 

"  None.    Stay,  though ;  what  cash  have  you  in  hand  ?  " 

"Twenty-nine  thousand  three  hundred'  and  odd  francs  for 
current  expenses,  my  lord  marquis ;  but  there  is  a  heavy  sum  at 
the  bank  belonging  to  this  quarter's  income." 

"  Well,  bring  me  twenty  thousand  francs  in  gold,  and,  should 
I  have  gone  out,  give  them  to  Joseph  for  me." 

"  Does  your  lordship  wish  for  them  this  morning?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Within  an  hour  the  gold  shall  be  here.  You  have  nothing 
else  to  say  to  me,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  No,  Monsieur  Doublet." 

"  A  hundred  and  twenty-six  thousand  francs  per  annum, 
wholly  unincumbered,"  repeated  the  steward,  as  he  was  about 
to  quit  the  room ;  "  this  is  a  glorious  day  for  me  to  see ;  I  almost 
feared  at  one  time  that  we  should  not  secure  this  desirable  prop- 
erty. Your  lordship's  most  humble  servant,  I  take  my  leave." 

"  Good  morning,  M.  Doublet." 

As  the  door  closed  upon  the  steward  M.  d'Harville,  overcome 
with  the  mental  agony  he  had  repressed  thus  far,  threw  himself 


266  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

into  an  armchair,  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  desk  before  which  he 
sat,  and  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  for  the  first  time  since 
receiving  the  fatal  billet,  gave  vent  to  a  flood  of  hot,  burning 
tears. 

"  Cruel  mockery  of  fate,"  cried  he,  at  length,  "  to  have  made 
me  rich,  but  have  given  me  only  shame  and  dishonor  to  place 
within  the  gilded  frame:  the  perjury  of  Clemence,  the  disgrace 
which  will  descend  upon  my  innocent  child.  Can  I  suffer  this? 
or  I  shall  I  for  the  sake  of  her  unoffending  offspring  spare  the 
guilty  mother  from  the  opprobrium  of  an  exposure  ?  "  Then 
rising  suddenly  from  his  seat,  with  sparkling  eyes  and  clenched 
teeth  he  cried  in  a  deep,  determined  voice, — "  No,  no ! — blood, 
blood  ! — the  fearful  protection  from  laughter  and  derision.  Ah  ! 
full  well  I  can  now  comprehend  her  coldness,  her  antipathy, 
wretched,  wretched  woman!"  Then,  stopping  all  at  once,  as 
though  melted  by  some  tender  recollection,  he  resumed,  in  a 
hoarse  tone, — "Aversion!  alas!  too  well  I  know  its  cause.  I 
inspire  her  with  loathing,  with  disgust !  "  Then,  after  a  length- 
ened silence,  he  cried,  in  a  voice  broken  by  sighs, — "  Yet,  was  it 
my  fault  or  my  misfortune?  should  she  have  wronged  me  thus 
for  a  calamity  beyond  my  power  to  avert?  surely  I  am  a  more 
fitting  object  for  her  pity  than  scorn  and  hatred."  Again  re- 
kindling into  his  excited  feelings,  he  reiterated, — "  Nothing  but 
blood, — the  blood  of  both  can  wash  out  this  guilty  stain !  Doubt- 
less HE  the  favored  lover  has  been  informed  why  she  flies  her 
husband's  arms." 

This  latter  thought  redoubled  the  fury  of  the  marquis.  He 
elevated  his  tightly  compressed  hands  towards  Heaven,  as 
though  invoking  its  vengeance;  then,  passing  his  burning  fingers 
over  his  eyes  as  he  recollected  the  necessity  that  existed  for  con- 
cealing his  emotion  from  the  servants  of  his  establishment,  he 
returned  to  his  sleeping  apartment  with  an  appearance  of  per- 
fect tranquillity.  There  he  found  Joseph. 

"  Well,  in  what  state  are  the  guns? " 

"In  perfect  order.    Please  to  examine  them,  my  lord." 

"  I  came  for  the  purpose  of  so  doing.  Has  your  lady  yet 
rang?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  my  lord." 

"  Then  inquire." 

Directly  the  servant  had  quitted  the  room,  M.  d'Harville 
hastily  took  from  the  gun-case  a  small  powder-flask,  some  balls 
and  caps ;  then,  locking  the  case,  put  the  key  in  his  pocket.  Then 
going  to  the  stand  of  arms,  he  took  from  it  a  pair  of  moderate- 
sized  Manton's  pistols,  loaded  them,  and  placed  them  without 


THE  RENDEZVOUS.  267 

difficulty    in    the    pockets    of    his    morning-wrapper.      Joseph 
returned  with  the  intimation  that  Madame  d'Harville  was  in  her 


"  Has  your  lady  ordered  her  carriage?  " 

"My  lord,  I  heard  Mademoiselle  Juliette  say  to  the  head- 
coachman,  when  he  came  to  inquire  her  ladyship's  orders  for  the 
day,  that,  as  it  was  cold,  dry  walking,  if  her  ladyship  went  out 
at  all,  she  would  prefer  going  on  foot." 

"  Very  well !  Stay — I  forgot !  I  shall  not  go  out  hunting 
before  to-morrow,  or  probably,  next  day.  Desire  Williams  to 
look  the  small  traveling  britcska  carefully  over.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  Perfectly,  my  lord ;  it  shall  be  attended  to.  Will  not  your 
lordship  require  a  stick  ?  " 

"  No !  Pray  tell  me  is  there  not  a  hackney-coach-stand  near 
here?" 

"  Quite  close,  my  lord ; — in  the  Rue  de  Lille." 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  the  marquis  continued :  "  Go  and 
inquire  of  Mademoiselle  Juliette  whether  Madame  d'Harville 
can  see  me  for  a  few  minutes."  Joseph  obeyed. 

"Yes,"  murmured  the  marquis,  "I  well  see  the  cause  of  all 
my  misery — my  disgrace.  I  will  contemplate  the  guilty  mask 
beneath  which  the  impure  heart  conceals  its  adulterous  designs. 
I  will  listen  to  the  false  lips  that  speak  the  words  of  innocence, 
while  deep  dishonor  lurks  in  the  candid  smile — a  smile  that 
seemed  to  me  as  that  of  an  angel.  Yet  'tis  an  appalling  spec- 
tacle to  watch  the  words — the  looks — of  one  who,  breathing  only 
the  sentiments  of  a  chaste  wife  and  mother,  is  about  to  sully 
your  name  with  one  of  those  deep,  deadly  stains  which  can  only 
be  washed  out  in  blood.  Fool  that  I  am  to  give  her  the  chance 
of  again  bewildering  my  senses !  She  will  look  at  me  with  her 
accustomed  sweetness  and  candor;  greet  me  (all  guilty  as  she 
is)  with  the  same  pure  smile  she  bestows  upon  her  child,  as, 
kneeling  at  her  lap,  it  lisps  its  early  prayer.  That  look — those 
eyes,  mirrors  of  the  soul ! — the  more  modest  and  pure  the  glance 
(D'Harville  shuddered  with  contempt),  the  greater  must  be 
the  innate  corruption  and  falsehood !  Alas !  she  has  proved  her- 
self a  consummate  dissembler ;  and  I — 7 — have  been  the  veriest 
dupe!  Only  let  me  consider  with  what  sentiments  must  that 
woman  look  upon  me,  if  just  previous  to  her  meeting  with  her 
favored  lover  I  pay  her  my  accustomed  visit,  and  express  my 
usual  devotion  and  love  for  her! — the  young,  the  virtuous  wife 
— the  tender,  sensible,  and  devoted  mother,  as  until  this  wretched 
moment  I  would  have  died  to  prove  her.  Can  I,  dare  I,  trust 


268  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

myself  in  her  presence,  with  the  knowledge  of  her  being  but  too 
impatient  for  the  arrival  of  that  blessed  hour  which  conveys  her 
to  her  guilty  rendezvous  and  infamous  paramour!  Oh!  Cle- 
mence,  Clemence ! — you  in  whom  all  my  hopes  and  fondest 
affections  were  placed,  is  this  a  just  return  ?  No !  no !  no ! " 
again  repeated  M.  d'Harville,  with  rapidly  returning  excitement. 
"  False,  treacherous  woman !  I  will  not  see  you !  I  will  not  trust 
my  ears  to  your  feigned  words !  Nor  you,  my  child.  At  the 
sight  of  your  innocent  countenance  I  should  unman  myself,  and 
compromise  my  just  revenge." 

Quitting  his  apartment,  M.  d'Harville,  instead  of  repairing  to 
those  of  la  marquise,  contented  himself  with  leaving  a  message 
for  her  through  Mademoiselle  Juliette,  to  the  effect  that  he 
wished  a  short  conversation  with  Madame  d'Harville,  but  that 
being  obliged  to  go  out  just  then,  he  should  be  glad,  if  it  as- 
sorted with  Madame  la  Marquise's  perfect  convenience,  to  break- 
fast with  her  at  twelve  o'clock. 

"  And  so,"  said  the  unhappy  M.  d'Harville,  "  fancying  that 
after  twelve  o'clock  I  shall  be  safe  at  home,  she  will  consider 
herself  more  at  liberty  to  follow  out  her  own  plans." 

He  then  repaired  to  the  coach-stand  contiguous  to  his  man- 
sion, and  summoned  a  vehicle  from  the  ranks. 

"Now,  coachee,"  said  he,  affecting  to  disguise  his  rank, 
"what's  o'clock?" 

"  All  right,  master,"  said  the  man,  drawing  up  to  the  side  of 
the  footway,  "  where  am  I  to  drive  to  ?  Let's  have  a  right  under- 
standing, and  a  look  at  the  clock.  Why,  it  is  as  close  upon  half- 
after  eleven  as  may  be." 

"  Now  then,  drive  to  the  corner  of  the  Eue  Saint  Dominique, 
and  wait  at  the  end  of  the  garden  wall  which  runs  along  there — 
do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes— I  know." 

M.  d'Harville  then  drew  down  the  blinds  of  the  '-fiacre;  the 
coachman  drove  on,  and  soon  arrived  opposite  the  Hotel  d'Har- 
ville, from  which  point  of  observation  it  was  impossible  for  any 
person  to  enter  or  quit  the  house  without  the  marquis  having  a 
full  view  of  them.  One  o'clock  was  the  hour  fixed  in  the  note; 
and  with  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  entrance-gates  of  the  mansion, 
the  marquis  waited  in  painful  suspense,  absorbed  in  a  whirl  of 
fearful  thoughts  and  maddening  conjectures.  Time  stole  on 
imperceptibly;  twelve  o'clock  reverberated  from  the  dome  of 
Saint  Thomas  Aquinas,  when  the  door  opened  slowly  at  the 
Hotel  d'Harville,  and  Madame  d'Harville  herself  came  timidly 
forth. 


THE  RENDEZ VO  US.  2G9 

"  Already !  "  exclaimed  the  unhappy  husband ;  "  how  punctual 
she  is ! "  She  fears  to  keep  HIM  waiting,"  cried  the  marquis, 
with  a  mixture  of  irony  and  savage  rage. 

The  cold  was  excessive;  the  pavement  hard  and  dry.  Cle- 
mence  was  dressed  in  a  black  velvet  bonnet,  covered  with  a  veil 
of  the  same  color,  and  a  thickly-wadded  pelisse  of  dark  ruby 
satin,  a  large  shawl  of  dark-blue  cachemire  fell  to  the  very  hem 
of  her  pelisse,  which  she  lightly  and  gracefully  held  up  while 
crossing  the  street.  Thanks  to  this  movement,  the  taper  foot 
and  graceful  ankle  of  Madame  d'Harville,  cased  in  an  exqui- 
sitely-fitting boot  of  black  satin,  were  exposed  to  view. 

It  was  strange  that  amid  the  painful  and  bewildering  ideas 
that  crowded  the  brain  of  d'Harville,  he  should  have  found  one 
thought  to  waste  upon  the  beauty  of  his  wife's  foot;  but  so  it 
was;  and  at  the  moment  that  was  about  to  separate  them  for- 
ever, to  his  eager  gaze,  that  fairy  foot  and  well-turned  ankle  had 
never  looked  so  charming;  and  then,  as  by  a  rapid  train  of 
thought  he  recalled  the  matchless  loveliness  of  his  wife,  and  as 
he  had  ever  believed  till  now  her  purity,  her  mental  graces,  he 
groaned  aloud  as  he  remembered  that  another  was  preferred  to 
him,  and  that  the  light  figure  that  glided  on  before  his  fixed 
gaze,  was  but  the  hollow  specter  of  fallen  goodness,  a  lost, 
degraded  creature,  hastening  to  steep  her  husband  and  infant 
in  irremediable  disgrace,  for  the  indulging  of  a  base  and  guilty 
passion.  Even  in  that  wretched  moment  he  felt  how  dearly, 
how  exclusively  he  had  loved  her ;  and  for  the  first  time  during 
the  blow  which  had  fallen  on  him,  he  knew  that  he  mourned  the 
lovely  woman  almost  equally  with  the  virtuous  mother  and  chaste 
wife.  A  cry  of  rage  and  mingled  fury  escaped  him,  as  he  pic- 
tured the  rapture  of  her  meeting  with  the  lover  of  her  choice; 
and  a  sharp,  darting  pain  quivered  through  his  heart  as  he 
remembered  that  Clemence,  with  all  her  youth  and  beauty,  her 
countless  charms,  both  of  body  and  mind,  was  lost  to  him  for- 
ever. 

Hitherto  his  passionate  grief  had  been  unmixed  by  any  alloy 
of  self.  He  had  bewailed  the  sanctity  of  the  marriage-vow 
trampled  under  foot,  the  abandonment  of  all  sworn  and  sacred 
duties;  but  his  sufferings  of  rage,  jealousy,  and  regret,  almost 
overpowered  him,  and  with  much  difficulty  was  he  able  to  com- 
mand his  voice  sufficiently  to  say  to  the  coachman,  while  par- 
tially drawing  up  the  blind, — 

"  Do  you  see  that  lady  in  the  blue  shawl  and  black  bonnet 
walking  along  by  the  wall  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes ! — I  see  her  safe  enough." 


270  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Well  then,  go  slowly  along,  and  keep  up  with  her.  Should 
she  go  to  the  coach-stand  I  had  you  from,  pull  up;  and  when 
she  has  got  into  a  fiacre,  follow  it  wherever  it  goes." 

"  All  right — I  understand !  Now  this  is  what  I  call  a  good 
joke!" 

M.  d'Harville  had  conjectured  rightly.  Madame  d'Harville 
repaired  directly  to  the  coach-stand;  and  beckoning  a  fiacre  of! 
the  stand,  instantly  got  in,  and  drove  off,  closely  followed  by 
the  vehicle  containing  her  husband. 

They  had  proceeded  but  a  very  short  distance,  when  the 
coachman  took  the  road  to  the  church  of  Saint  Thomas 
d'Aquinas,  and,  to  the  surprise  of  M.  d'Harville,  pulled  up 
directly  in  front. 

"  What  is  this  for?    What  are  you  about?  " 

"  Why,  master,  the  lady  you  told  me  to  follow  has  just  alighted 
here,  and  a  smart,  tidy  leg  and  foot  of  her  own  she  has  got. 
Her  dress  somehow  caught ;  so,  you  see,  I  couldn't  help  having  a 
peep,  nohow.  This  is  downright  good  fun  though,  this  is !  " 

A  thousand  varied  thoughts  agitated  M.  d'Harville.  One 
minute  he  fancied  that  his  wife,  fearing  pursuit,  had  taken  this 
step  to  escape  detection;  then  hope  whispered  that  the  letter 
which  had  given  him  so  much  uneasiness,  might  after  all  be 
only  an  infamous  calumny ;  for  if  guilty,  what  could  be  gained  by 
this  false  assumption  of  piety?  Would  it  not  be  a  species  of 
sacrilegious  mockery?  At  this  suggestion  a  bright  ray  of  hope 
shot  across  the  troubled  mind  of  M.  d'Harville,  arising  from 
the  striking  contrast  between  Clemence's  present  occupation  and 
the  crime  alleged  as  her  motive  for  quitting  her  home.  Alas ! 
this  consolatory  illusion  was  speedily  destroyed.  Leaning  in  at 
the  open  window  the  coachman  observed, — 

"  I  say,  master,  that  nice  little  woman  you  are  after  has  got 
back  into  her  coach." 

"Then  follow  quickly." 

"I'm  off!  Now  this  is  what  I  call  downright  good  fun. 
Capital ! — hang  me  if  it  a'nt." 

The  vehicle  reached  the  Quais,  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  the  Eue 
Sainte  Avoye,  and,  at  last,  Rue  du  Temple. 

"  I  say,"  said  the  coachman,  turning  round  to  speak  to  M. 
d'Harville  from  his  seat,  "  master,  just  look.  My  mate,  there  has 
stopped  at  No.  17;  we  are  about  at  13.  Shall  I  stop  here  or 
goon  to  17?" 

"  Stop  here." 

"  I  say — look'ee ; — you'll  lose  your  pretty  lady.  She  has  gone 
into  the  alley  leading  to  No.  17." 


THE  RENDEZVOUS.  271 

"  Open  the  door." 

"  I'm  coming,  sir." 

And  quickly  following  the  steps  of  his  wife,  M.  d'Harvi  le 
entered  the  obscure  passage  up  which  she  had  disappeared. 
Madame  d'Harville,  however,  had  so  far  the  start  as  to  have 
entered  the  house  previously. 

Attracted  by  the  most  devouring  curiosity,  Madame  Pipelet, 
with  her  melancholy  Alfred  and  her  friend  the  oyster-woman, 
were  huddled  close  together  on  the  sill  at  the  lodge  door.  The 
staircase  was  so  dark  that  a  person  just  emerging  from  the 
daylight  into  the  gloom  of  the  passage  could  not  discern  a  single 
step  of  it;  and  Madame  d'Harville,  agitated  and  almost  sinking 
with  apprehension,  found  herself  constrained  to  apply  to  Madame 
Pipelet  for  further  advice  how  to  proceed,  saying,  in  a  low, 
tremulous  voice, — 

"  Which  way  must  I  turn,  madam,  to  find  the  staircase  of  the 
house?" 

"  Stop,  if  you  please.     Pray,  whom  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  go  to  the  apartments  of  M.  Charles,  madam." 

"Monsieur  who?"  repeated  the  old  woman,  feigning  not  to 
have  heard  her,  but  in  reality  to  afford  sufficient  leisure  to  her 
husband  and  her  friend  thoroughly  to  scrutinize  the  unhappy 
woman's  countenance,  even  through  the  folds  of  her  thick  veil. 

"  M.  Charles,  madam,"  repeated  Clemence,  in  a  low,  trembling 
tone,  and  bending  down  her  head,  so  as  escape  the  rude  and 
insolent  examination  to  which  her  features  were  subjected. 

"  Ah !  M.  Charles ;  very  well :  you  should  have  spoken  so  that 
one  could  hear  you.  Well,  my  pretty  dear,  if  you  want  M. 
Charles, — and  a  good-looking  fellow  he  is  as  ever  won  a  woman's 
heart, — go  straight  on,  and  the  door  will  stare  you  in  the  face. 
Eh  !  eh  !  eh  !  "  laughed  out  the  old  woman,  shaking  her  fat  sides 
with  spiteful  glee,  "  it  seems  he  has  not  waited  for  nothing  this 
time.  Success  to  love  and  love-makings,  and  a  merry  end  to  it !  " 

The  marquise,  ready  to  sink  with  confusion,  began  slowly  to 
grope  her  way  up  the  dingy  staircase. 

"  I  say,"  bawled  out  the  old  shell-fish  woman,  "  our  com- 
mandant knows  what  he  is  about — don't  he?  Leave  him  alone 
to  choose  a  pretty  girl.  His  marm  is  a  regular  swell — a'nt  she  ?  " 

Had  it  not  been  requisite  for  her  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  the 
trio  who  occupied  the  entrance-door,  Madame  d'Harville,  ready 
to  sink  with  shame  and  terror,  would  gladly  have  retraced  her 
steps.  She  made  another  effort,  and  at  last  reached  the  landing- 
place,  where,  to  her  unutterable  consternation  and  surprise,  she 
saw  Eodolph  waiting  impatiently  her  arrival.  Instantly  flying 


272  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

to  meet  her,  he  hastily  placed  a  purse  in  her  hand,  saying,  in  a 
hurried  manner, — 

"  Your  husband  knows  all,  and  is  now  following  your  very 

At  this  instant,  the  sharp  tones  of  Madame  Pipelet  were 
heard  crying  out,  "  Where  are  you  going  to,  sir  ?  " 

"  'Tis  he ! "  exclaimed  Eodolph,  and  then,  almost  forcing 
Madame  d'Harville  up  the  second  staircase,  he  added,  in  a  rapid 
manner,  "make  all  haste  to  the  very  top  of  the  house:  on  the 
fifth  floor  you  will  find  a  wretched  family,  named  Morel. 
Eemember  your  sole  business  in  coming  hither  was  to  relieve 
their  distress." 

"  I  tell  you,  sir,"  screamed  Madame  Pipelet,  "  that  unless 
you  tell  me  your  name,  you  shall  trample  over  me,  as  they  walked 
over  our  brave  men  at  Waterloo,  before  I  let  you  pass." 

Having,  from  the  entrance  to  the  alley,  observed  Madame 
d'Harville  stop  to  speak  to  the  porteress,  the  marquis  had  like- 
wise prepared  himself  to  pass  through  some  sort  of  questioning. 

"  I  belong  to  the  lady  who  just  now  entered,"  said  the 
marquis. 

"  Bless  me ! "  exclaimed  Madame  Pipelet,  looking  the  picture 
of  wonderment,  "  why,  that,  of  course,  is  a  satisfactory  answer. 
You  can  pass  on,  if  you  please." 

Hearing  an  unusual  stir,  M.  Charles  Eobert  had  set  the  door  of 
his  apartments  ajar,  and  Eodolph,  unwilling  to  be  recognized  by 
M.  d'Harville,  whose  quick,  searching  eye  might  have  detected 
him,  spite  of  the  murkiness  of  the  staircase,  hearing  him  rapidly 
ascending  the  stairs,  just  as  he  reached  the  landing-place, 
dashed  into  the  chamber  of  the  astonished  commandant,  locking 
the  door  after  him.  M.  Charles  Eobert,  magnificently  attired 
in  his  role  de  chambre,  of  scarlet  damask,  with  orange-colored 
stripes,  and  Greek  cap  of  embroidered  velvet,  was  struck  with 
astonishment  at  the  unexpected  appearance  of  Bodolph,  whom 
he  had  not  seen  the  preceding  evening  at  the  embassy,  and  who 
was  upon  the  present  occasion  very  plainly  dressed. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  intrusion  ?  "  asked  he  at  length, 
assuming  a  tone  of  killing  haughtiness. 

"Be  silent!"  replied  Eodolph;  and  there  was  that  in  his 
voice  and  manner  that  Charles  Eobert  obeyed,  even  in  spite  of 
his  own  determination  to  strike  terror  into  the  bold  invader  of 
his  private  moments. 

A  violent  and  continued  noise,  as  of  some  heavy  substance 
falling  from  one  stair  to  the  other,  resounded  through  the  dull 
silence  of  the  gloomy  staircase. 


THE  RENDEZVOUS.  273 

"  Unhappy  man !  he  has  murdered  her ! "  exclaimed  Ro- 
dolph. 

"  Murdered ! "  ejaculated  M.  Charles  Robert,  turning  very 
pale,  "  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  what  is  all  this  about  ?  " 

But,  without  heeding  his  inquiry,  Rodolph  partially  opened  the 
door,  and  discovered  little  Tortillard  half  rolling,  half  limping, 
down  the  stairs,  holding  in  his  hand  the  red  silk  purse  Rodolph 
had  just  given  to  Madame  d'Harville.  Tortillard,  with  another 
scrambling  shuffle,  disappeared  at  the  bottom  of  the  last  flight 
of  stairs.  The  light  step  of  Madame  d'Harville,  and  the  heavier 
tread  of  her  husband,  as  he  continued  his  pursuit  of  her  from 
one  story  to  another,  could  be  distinctly  heard.  Somewhat 
relieved  of  his  worst  fears,  yet  unable  to  make  out  by  what 
chance  the  purse  so  recently  committed  to  Madame  d'Harville's 
hands  should  have  been  transferred  to  those  of  Tortillard, 
Rodolph  said,  authoritatively,  to  M.  Robert, — 

"  Do  not  think  of  quitting  your  apartments,  for  the  next  hour, 
I  request!" 

"  Upon  my  life  and  soul,  that  is  a  pretty  thing  to  say  to  a 
gentleman  in  his  own  house,"  replied  M.  Robert  in  an  impatient 
and  wrathful  tone.  "  I  ask  you,  again,  what  is  the  meaning 
of  all  this?  Who  the  devil  are  you,  sir?  and  how  dare  you 
dictate  to  me,  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"  M.  d'Harville  is  informed  of  everything — has  followed  his 
wife  to  your  very  door — and  is  now  pursuing  her  to  the  upper 
part  of  the  house." 

"  God  bless  me !  here's  a  situation ! "  exclaimed  Charles 
Robert,  with  an  appearance  of  utter  consternation.  "  But  what 
is  to  be  done  ? — what  is  the  use  of  her  going  up-stairs  ? — and  how 
will  she  manage  to  get  down  again  unobserved  ?  " 

"  Remain  where  you  are,  neither  speak  nor  move  until  the 
porteress  comes  to  you,"  rejoined  Rodolph,  who  hastened  to  give 
his  final  instructions  to  Madame  Pipelet,  leaving  the  com- 
mandant a  prey  to  the  most  alarming  apprehensions. 

"  Well ! — well !  "  cried  Madame  Pipelet,  her  face  radiant  with 
chuckling  exultation;  "there's  rare  sport  going  on!  The  lady 
who  came  to  visit  my  fine  gentleman  on  the  first  floor  has  been 
followed  by  another  gentleman,  who  seems  rather  in  a  passion — 
the  husband  of  that  silly  young  creature,  I  make  no  doubt. 
Directly  the  truth  flashed  across  me,  I  tells  him  to  go  straight 
up;  for,  thinks  I,  he'll  be  sure  to  murder  our  commandant. 
That'll  make  a  deal  of  talk  in  the  neighborhood ;  and  folks  will 
come  crowding  to  see  the  house,  just  as  they  did  at  No.  36  after 
the  man  was  killed  there.  Lord !  I  wonder  the  fighting  has  not" 


274:  TBE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

begun  yet.  I  have  been  listening  to  hear  tbem  set  to;  but  I 
can't  catch  the  least  sound." 

"  My  dear  Madame  Pipelet,  will  you  do  me  a  great  favor  ?  " 
said  Rodolph,  putting  five  louis  into  her  hand.  "  When  this 
lady  comes  down-stairs,  ask  her  how  she  found  the  poor  Morels. 
Tell  her  she  has  performed  an  act  of  real  charity  in  coming  to 
see  them,  according  to  her  promise,  the  last  time  she  called  to 
inquire  respecting  them." 

Madame  Pipelet  looked  first  at  the  money  and  then  at 
Eodolph,  with  an  air  of  petrified  astonishment. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  with  this  money  ?  "  inquired  she,  at  length ; 
"  do  you  give  it  me  ?  Ah,  I  see !  This  handsome  lady,  then, 
does  not  come  altogether  for  the  commandant  ?  " 

"  The  gentleman  who  followed  her  was  her  husband,  as  you 
justly  supposed ;  but,  being  warned  in  time,  the  poor  lady  went 
straight  on  to  the  Morels,  as  though  her  only  business  here  was 
to  afford  them  succor.  Now  do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  I  did — clear  as  noonday.  *  A  nod  is  as  good 
as  a  wink,'  as  the  old  woman  said.  I  know !  You  want  me  to 
to  help  you  cheat  the  husband  ?  Lord  bless  you !  I'm  up  to  all 
those  things ; — quick  as  lightning — silent  as  the  grave !  Go 
along  with  you !  I'm  a  regular  good  hand  at  keeping  husbands 
in  the  dark;  you  might  fancy  I'd  been  used  to  it  all  my  life. 
But  tell  me " 

The  huge  hat  of  M.  Pipelet  was  here  observed  sending  its 
dark  shadow  across  the  floor  of  the  lodge. 

"  Anastasia,"  said  Alfred,  gravely,  "  you  are  like  M.  Cesar 
Bradamanti ;  you  have  no  respect  for  anything  or  anybody.  And 
let  me  tell  you  that  there  are  subjects  that  should  never  be  made 
the  subject  of  a  jest,  even  amongst  the  most  familiar  acquaint- 
ances." 

"Nonsense,  my  old  darling.  Don't  stand  there  rolling  up 
your  eyes,  and  looking  about  as  wise  as  a  pig  in  a  pound.  You 
know  well  enough  I  was  only  joking;  you  know  well  enough 
that  no  living  soul  beneath  the  canopy  of  heaven  can  ever  say  I 
gave  him  a  liberty.  But  that'll  do;  so  let's  talk  of  this  good 
gentleman's  business.  Suppose  I  do  go  out  of  my  usual  way  to 
save  this  young  lady,  I'm  sure  I  do  it  solely  to  oblige  our  new 
lodger,  who,  for  his  generosity,  may  well  deserve  to  be  called 
the  king  of  lodgers."  Then,  turning  towards  Rodolph,  she 
added,  "  You  shall  see  how  cleverly  I  will  go  to  work.  Just 
hide  yourself  there  in  that  corner  behind  the  curtain.  Quick — 
quick ! — I  hear  them  coming." 

Rodolph  had  scarcely  time  to  conceal  himself  ere  Monsieur 


TUB  RENDEZVOUS.  275 

and  Madame  d'Harville  descended  the  stairs.  The  features  of 
the  marquis  shone  with  happiness,  mingled  with  a  confused  and 
astonished  expression,  while  the  countenance  of  his  wife,  as  she 
hung  on  his  arm,  looked  calm  but  pale. 

"  Well,  my  good  lady,"  cried  Madame  Pipelet,  going  out  of 
her  lodge  to  address  her,  as  she  descended  the  last  stair,  "  how 
did  you  find  the  poor  creatures — I  mean  the  Morels?  Ah,  I 
doubt  not,  such  a  sight  made  your  heart  ache !  God  knows  your 
charity  was  well  bestowed !  1  told  you  the  other  day,  when  you 
called  to  inquire  about  them,  what  a  state  of  starvation  and 
misery  they  were  in.  Be  assured,  kind  lady,  these  poor  things 
are  fit  objects  of  your  bounty;  you  will  never  have  to  regret 
coming  to  this  out-of-the-way  place  to  examine  into  their  case. 
They  really  are  deserving  all  your  kindness — don't  you  think 
so,  Alfred?" 

Alfred,  the  strictness  of  whose  ideas  touching  a  due  regard 
for  all  conjugal  duties  made  him  revolt  at  the  thoughts  of  help- 
ing to  deceive  a  husband,  replied  only  by  a  sort  of  grumbling 
sound,  as  vague  as  discordant. 

"  Please  to  excuse  my  husband,  madam,"  resumed  Madame 
Pipelet ;  "  he  has  got  the  cramp  in  his  stomach,  and  cannot  speak 
loud  enough  to  be  understood,  or  he  would  tell  you  as  well  as 
myself  that  the  poor  people  you  have  so  fortunately  relieved 
will  pray  of  the  Almighty,  night  and  day,  to  bless  and  reward 
you,  my  worthy  lady." 

M.  d'Harville  gazed  on  his  wife  with  feelings  approaching 
to  adoration,  as  he  exclaimed,  "  Angel  of  goodness,  how  has  base 
slander  dared  to  disturb  your  heavenly  work ! " 

"  An  angel ! "  repeated  Madame  Pipelet,  "  that  she  is,  and 
one  of  the  very  best  Heaven  could  send.  There  is  not  a  better." 

"  Let  us  return  home,  I  entreat ! "  said  Madame  d'Harville, 
who  was  suffering  acutely  under  the  restraint  she  had  put  upon 
herself  since  entering  the  house,  and,  now  that  the  necessity  for 
exertion  was  over,  found  her  strength  rapidly  forsaking  her. 

"  Instantly,"  replied  the  marquis. 

At  the  instant  of  their  emerging  into  the  open  air  from  the 
obscurity  of  the  alley,  M.  d'Harville,  observing  the  pale  looks 
of  his  wife,  said  tenderly, — 

"  Ah,  Clemence,  I  have  deep  cause  to  solicit  your  pity  and 
forgiveness." 

"  Alas !  my  lord,"  said  the  marquise,  sighing  deeply,  "  which 
of  us  has  not  need  of  pardon?" 

Eodolph  quitted  his  hiding-place,  deeply  ruminating  upon  so 
terrible  a  scene,  thus  intermingled  with  absurdity  and  coarse- 


276  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

ness,  and  pondering  over  the  curious  termination  to  a  drama,  the 
commencement  of  which  had  called  forth  such  different  passions. 

"  Well,  now,"  exclaimed  Madame  Pipelet,  "  you  must  say  I 
played  my  part  well.  Didn't  I  send  that  donkey  of  a  husband 
home  with  longer  ears  than  he  came  out  with  ?  Lord  bless  you ! 
he'll  put  his  wife  under  a  glass-case,  and  worship  her  from  this 
day  forward.  Poor,  dear  gentleman !  I  really  could  not  help 
feeling  sorry  for  him.  Oh!  but  about  your  furniture,  M. 
Eodolph;  it  has  not  come  yet." 

"  I  am  now  going  to  see  about  it." 

"  By  the  by,  you  had  better  go  and  inform  the  commandant 
that  he  may  venture  out." 

"  True ;  I'll  go  and  let  the  caged  bird  out.  But  what  stuff 
and  nonsense  for  him  to  hire  apartments  of  no  more  use  to  him 
than  they  are  to  the  King  of  Prussia !  He  is  a  fine  fellow,  he  is, 
with  his  paltry  twelve  francs  a-month.  This  is  the  fourth  time 
he  has  been  made  a  fool  of." 

Eodolph  quitted  the  house,  and  Madame  Pipelet,  turning  to 
her  husband,  said,  with  a  chuckling  laugh,  "  Now,  Alfred,  the 
commandant's  turn  has  come ; — now  for  it !  I  mean  to  have 
a  jolly  good  laugh  at  my  gentleman — up  and  dressed  for  noth- 
ing." 

Arrived  at  the  apartments  of  M.  Charles  Robert,  the  porteress 
rang  the  bell ;  the  door  was  opened  by  the  commandant  himself. 

"  Commandant ! "  said  Anastasia,  giving  him  a  military 
salute,  by  placing  the  back  of  her  little  fat  hand  against  the 
front  of  her  wig,  "  I  have  come  to  set  you  free.  Your  friends 
have  gone  away  arm  in  arm,  happy  as  doves,  under  your  very 
nose.  Well,  you  are  out  of  a  nice  mess,  thanks  to  M.  Rodolph. 
You  ought  to  stand  something  very  handsome  to  him  for  all  he 
has  done  upon  the  present  occasion." 

"  Then  this  slim  individual  with  the  moustachios  is  called 
M.  Eodolph,  is  he?" 

"  Exactly  so ;  neither  more  nor  less." 

"  And  who  and  what  is  the  fellow  ?  " 

"  Fellow,  indeed ! "  cried  Madame  Pipelet,  in  a  wrathful 
voice;  "he  is  as  good  as  other  men — better  than  some  I  could 
mention.  Why,  he  is  a  traveling  clerk,  but  the  very  king  of 
lodgers;  for,  though  he  has  only  one  room,  he  does  not  haggle 
and  beat  folks  down — not  he.  Why,  he  gave  me  six  francs  for 
doing  for  him — six  francs,  mind,  I  say,  without  a  word.  Think 
of  that ! — without  ever  offering  me  a  sous  less.  Oh,  he  is  a 
lodger !  I  wish  other  people  were  at  all  like  him !  " 

"  There — there — that's  enough ;  take  the  key." 


THE  RENDEZVOUS.  277 

"  Shall  I  light  the  fire  to-morrow,  commandant  ?  " 

"No!" 

"Next  day?" 

"  No,  no !— don't  bother  me." 

"  I  say,  commandant,  if  you  recollect,  I  warned  you  that  you 
would  have  your  trouble  for  your  pains." 

M.  Charles  Robert  threw  a  glance  at  his  grinning  tormentor 
that  spoke  of  annihilation  at  least,  and,  dashing  furiously  by 
her,  quitted  the  house,  wondering  much  how  a  mere  clerk  should 
have  become  acquainted  with  his  assignation  with  the  Marquise 
d'Harville. 

As  the  commandant  left  the  alley,  Tortillard  came  hobbling 
along. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  "  said  Madame  Pipelet. 

"  Has  the  Borgnesse  been  to  call  upon  me  ?  "  asked  the  young 
scamp,  without  attending  to  the  porteress's  question. 

"The  Chouette?  No,  you  ugly  monster!  what  should  she 
come  for  ?  " 

"  Why  to  take  me  with  her  into  the  country,  to  be  sure,"  said 
Tortillard,  swinging  on  the  lodge-gate. 

"  And  what  does  your  master  say  to  it  ?  " 

"  Oh !  father  managed  all  that.  He  sent  this  morning  to  M. 
Bradamanti,  to  ask  him  to  give  me  leave  to  go  in  the  country 
— the  country — the  country,"  sung  or  rather  screamed  the 
amiable  scion  of  M.  Bras  Rouge,  beating  time  most  melodiously 
on  the  window-panes. 

"  Will  you  leave  off,  you  young  rascal,  or  are  you  going  to 
break  my  window  ?  Oh,  here  comes  a  coach  !  " 

"  Oh  !  oh !  oh !  "  shrieked  the  urchin ;  "  it  is  my  dear  Chou- 
ette !  Oh,  how  nice  the  ride  in  a  coach !  " 

And,  looking  through  the  window,  they  saw  reflected  upon  the 
red  blind  of  the  opposite  glass  the  hideous  profile  of  the 
Borgnesse.  She  beckoned  to  Torillard,  who  ran  out  to  her.  The 
coachman  descended  from  his  box,  and  opened  the  door; 
Tortillard  sprang  into  the  vehicle,  which  instantly  drove  off. 

Another  person  beside  the  Chouette  was  in  the  carriage.  In 
the  further  corner,  and  wrapped  in  an  old  cloak  with  a  furred 
collar,  his  features  shrouded  by  a  black  silk  cap  pulled  down  over 
his  brows,  sat  the  Schoolmaster.  His  inflamed  lids  formed  a 
horrible  contrast  with  the  white  globeless  space  beneath;  and 
this  fearful  spectacle  was  rendered  still  more  hideous  by  the 
action  of  the  severe  cold  upon  his  seamed  and  frightful  coun- 
tenance. 

"Now,  small  boy,  squat  yourself  down  on  the  pins  of  my 


278  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

man;  you'll  serve  to  keep  him  warm,"  said  the  Borgnesse  to 
Tortillard,  who  crouched  like  a  dog  close  to  the  feet  of  the 
Schoolmaster  and  the  Chouette. 

"  Now  then,  my  coves,"  said  the  driver,  "  on  we  go  to  the  KEN 
at  Bouqueval,  don't  we,  La  Chouette  ?  You  shall  see  whether  I 
can  tool  a  drag  or  not." 

"  And  keep  your  pads  on  the  move,  my  fine  fellow ;  for  we 
must  get  hold  of  the  girl  to-night." 

"  All  right,  my  blind  'un ;  we'll  go  the  pace." 

"  Shall  I  give  you  a  hint  ?  "  said  the  Schoolmaster. 

"What  about?" 

"  Why,  cut  it  fine  as  you  pass  by  the  NABS  at  the  barrier ;  the 
meeting  might  lead  to  disagreeable  recollections.  It  ia  not  every 
old  acquaintance  it  is  worth  while  to  renew  our  friendship  with. 
You  have  been  wanted  at  the  barriers  for  some  time." 

"  I'll  keep  my  weather  eye  open,"  replied  the  driver,  getting  on 
his  box. 

It  needs  scarcely  be  told,  after  this  specimen  of  slang,  that  the 
coachman  was  a  robber,  one  of  the  Schoolmaster's  worthy  associ- 
ates. The  vehicle  then  quitted  the  Eue  du  Temple. 

Two  hours  afterwards,  towards  the  closing  of  a  winter's  day, 
the  vehicle  containing  the  Chouette,  the  Schoolmaster,  and 
Tortillard,  stopped  before  a  wooden  cross,  marking  out  the 
sunken  and  lonely  road  which  conducted  to  the  farm  at  Bouque- 
val, where  the  Goualeuse  remained  under  the  kind  protection  of 
Madame  Georges. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

AN  IDYL. 

THE  hour  of  five  had  just  struck  from  the  church-clock  of 
the  little  village  of  Bouqueval,  the  cold  was  intense,  the  sky 
clear,  the  sun,  sinking  slowly  behind  the  vast  leafless  woods 
which  crowned  the  heights  of  Ecouen,  cast  a  purple  hue  over  the 
horizon,  and  sent  its  faint,  sloping  rays  across  the  extensive 
plains,  white  and  hard  with  winter's  frost. 

In  the  country  each  season  has  its  own  distinctive  features, 
its  own  peculiar  charm :  at  times  the  dazzling  snow  changes  the 
whole  scene  into  immense  landscapes  of  purest  alabaster,  ex- 
hibiting their  spotless  beauties  to  the  reddish  gray  of  the  sky. 
Then  may  be  seen  in  the  glimmer  of  twilight,  either  ascending 


AN  IDYL  279 

or  descending  the  hill,  a  benighted  farmer  returning  to  his 
habitation ;  his  horse,  cloak,  and  hat,  are  covered  with  the  falling 
snow.  Bitter  is  the  cold,  biting  the  north  wind,  dark  and  gloomy 
the  approaching  night:  but  what  cares  he?  there,  amid  those 
leafless  trees,  he  sees  the  bright  taper  burning  in  the  window 
of  his  cheerful  home;  while  from  the  tall  chimney  a  column  of 
dark  smoke  rolls  upwards  through  the  flaky  shower  that  descends, 
and  speaks  to  the  toil-worn  farmer  of  a  blazing  hearth  and 
humble  meal  prepared  by  kind  affection  to  welcome  him  after 
the  fatigues  of  his  journey.  Then  the  rustic  gossip  by  the  fire- 
side, on  which  the  fagot  burns  and  crackles,  and  a  peaceful, 
comfortable  night's  rest,  amid  the  whistling  of  the  winds,  and 
the  barking  of  the  various  dogs  at  the  different  farms  scattered 
around,  with  the  answering  cry  from  the  distant  watch-dog. 

Daylight  opens  upon  a  scene  of  fairyland.  Surely  the  tiny 
elves  have  been  celebrating  some  grand  fete,  and  have  left  some 
of  their  adornments  behind  them,  for  on  each  branch  hang  long 
spiracles  of  crystal,  glittering  in  the  rays  of  a  winter's  sun  with 
all  the  prismatic  brilliancy  of  the  diamond.  The  damp,  rich 
soil  of  the  arable  land  is  laid  down  in  furrows,  where  hides  the 
timid  hare  in  her  form,  or  the  speckled  partridge  runs  merrily. 
Here  and  there  is  heard  the  melancholy  tinkling  of  the  sheep- 
bell  hanging  from  the  neck  of  some  important  leader  of  the 
numerous  flocks  scattered  over  the  verdant  heights  and  turfy 
valleys  of  the  neighborhood ;  while,  carefully  wrapped  in  his  dark 
gray  cloak,  the  shepherd,  seated  under  shelter  of  those  knotted 
trunks  and  interlaced  branches,  chants  his  cheerful  lay,  while 
his  fingers  are  busily  employed  weaving  a  basket  of  rushes. 

Occasionally  a  more  animated  scene  presents  itself:  distant 
echo  gives  out  the  faint  sound  of  the  hunting-horn,  and  the  cry 
of  hounds;  suddenly  a  frightened  deer  bursts  from  the  neigh- 
boring forest,  stands  for  a  few  seconds  in  terrified  alarm  upon 
the  frozen  plain,  then  darts  onward,  and  is  quickly  lost  amid 
the  thickets  on  the  opposite  side.  The  trampling  of  horses,  the 
barking  of  dogs,  are  rapidly  brought  nearer  by  the  breeze;  and 
now,  in  their  turn,  a  pack  of  dogs  with  brown  and  tawny-spotted 
skins  issue  from  the  brushwood  from  which  the  frightened  deer 
but  just  now  came;  they  run  eagerly  over  the  sterile  ground, 
the  fallow  fields,  with  noses  closely  pointed  to  the  ground  they 
pursue  with  loud  cries  the  traces  left  by  the  flying  deer.  At 
their  heels  come  the  hunters  in  their  scarlet  coats,  bending  over 
the  necks  of  their  swift  steeds;  they  encourage  their  dogs  by 
their  voices  mingled  with  the  notes  of  the  horn.  Swift  as  light- 
ning the  brilliant  cortege  passes  on;  the  noise  decreases;  by 


280  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

degrees  all  is  still,  dogs,  horses,  and  huntsmen,  are  lost  in  the 
tangled  mazes  of  the  forest,  where  the  frightened  stag  had 
sought  and  found  a  hiding-place.  Then  peace  and  calm  resume 
their  reign;  and  the  profound  stillness  of  these  vast  plains  was 
interrupted  only  by  the  monotonous  song  of  the  shepherd. 

These  sights — these  rustic  views,  abounded  in  the  environs  of 
the  village  of  Bouqueval,  which,  spite  of  its  proximity  to  Paris, 
was  situated  in  a  sort  of  desert,  to  which  there  was  no  approach 
except  by  cross-roads.  Concealed  during  summer  among  the 
trees,  like  a  nest  amid  the  sheltering  foliage,  the  farm  which 
had  become  the  home  of  the  poor  Goualeuse  was  now  utterly 
bereft  of  its  leafy  screen,  and  entirely  exposed  to  view.  The 
course  of  the  little  river,  now  quite  frozen  over,  resembled  a  long 
silver  ribbon  stretched  along  the  ever-verdant  meadows,  through 
which  a  number  of  fine  cows  were  leisurely  wending  their  way 
to  their  stable.  Brought  home  by  the  approach  of  night,  flocks 
of  pigeons  were  successively  arriving,  and  perching  on  the 
peaked  roof  of  the  dove-house;  while  the  immense  walnut-trees, 
that  during  the  summer  afforded  an  umbrageous  screen  both 
to  the  farm-house  and  its  numerous  out-buildings,  stripped 
of  its  rich  foliage,  exhibited  only  bare  branches,  through  which 
could  plainly  be  discerned  the  tiled  roof  of  the  one,  and  the 
thatched  tops  of  the  others,  overgrown  with  patches  of  moss  of 
mingled  green  and  dingy  brown. 

A  heavy  cart,  drawn  by  three  strong,  sturdy  horses,  with  long, 
thick  manes  and  shining  coats,  with  blue  collars  ornamented 
with  bells  and  tassels  of  red  worsted,  was  bringing  in  a  load  of 
wheat  from  a  neighboring  rick.  This  ponderous  machine  entered 
the  courtyard  by  the  large  gate;  while  immense  flocks  of  sheep 
were  pressing  eagerly  round  the  side  entrances;  both  men  and 
beasts  appeared  impatient  to  escape  from  the  severity  of  the 
cold,  and  to  enjoy  the  comfort  of  repose.  The  horses  neighed 
joyously  at  the  sight  of  their  stable,  the  sheep  bleated  their 
satisfaction  at  returning  to  their  warm  folds,  while  the  hungry 
laborers  cast  a  longing  look  towards  the  kitchen-windows,  from 
which  streamed  forth  pleasant  promise  of  a  warm  and  savory 
meal. 

The  whole  of  the  exterior  arrangements  of  the  farm  were 
indicative  of  the  most  scrupulous  order,  neatness,  and  exactitude. 
Instead  of  being  covered  with  dirt  and  dust,  scattered  about, 
and  exposed  to  the  inclemency  of  the  season,  the  carts,  rollers, 
harrows,  etc.,  with  every  agricultural  implement  (and  some  were 
of  the  last  and  best  invention),  were  placed,  well  cleaned  and 
painted,  under  a  vast  shed,  where  the  carters  were  accustomed  to 


AN  IDYL.  281 

arrange  their  cart-harness  with  the  most  sjinmetrical  attention 
to  order  and  method.  Large,  clean,  and  well  laid  out,  the  court- 
yard had  none  of  those  huge  dung-heaps,  those  stagnant  pools  of 
filthy  water,  which  deface  the  finest  establishments  of  La  Beauce 
or  La  Brie. 

The  poultry-yard,  surrounded  by  a  green  trellising,  received 
and  shut  in  all  the  feathered  tribe,  who,  after  wandering  in  the 
fields  all  day,  returned  home  by  a  small  door  left  open  till  all 
were  collected,  when  it  was  carefully  closed  and  secured.  With- 
out dwelling  too  minutely  upon  every  detail,  we  shall  merely 
observe,  that  in  all  respects  this  farm  passed  most  justly  in  the 
environs  for  a  model  farm,  as  much  for  the  excellency  of  the 
method  by  which  it  was  conducted,  and  the  abundant  crops  it 
produced,  as  for  the  respectability  and  correct  mode  of  life  which 
distinguish  the  various  laborers  employed  there,  who  were  soon 
ranked  among  the  most  creditable  and  efficient  workmen  of  the 
place. 

The  cause  of  all  this  prosperity  shall  be  spoken  of  hereafter, 
meanwhile  we  will  conduct  the  reader  to  the  trellised  gate  of  the 
poultry-yard ;  which,  for  the  rustic  elegance  of  its  perches  and 
poultry-houses,  was  no  ways  inferior  to  the  farm  itself;  while 
through  the  center  flowed  a  small  stream  of  clear,  limpid  water, 
the  bed  of  which  was  laid  down  with  smooth  pebbles,  carefully 
cleansed  from  any  obstructing  substance. 

A  sudden  stir  arose  among  the  winged  inhabitants  of  this 
charming  spot :  the  fowls  flew  fluttering  and  cackling  from  their 
perches,  the  turkeys  gabbled,  the  guinea-fowls  screamed,  and  the 
pigeons,  forsaking  their  elevated  position  on  the  summit  of  the 
dove-house,  descended  to  the  sandy  surface  of  the  yard,  and 
stood  cooing  and  caressing  each  other  with  every  manifestation 
of  joy.  The  arrival  of  Fleur-de-Marie  had  occasioned  all  these 
ecstatic  delights. 

A  more  charming  model  than  the  Goualeuse  could  not  have 
l)con  desired  by  Greuze  or  Watteau,  had  her  cheeks  possessed  a 
little  more  rondeur  or  been  visited  by  a  brighter  tinge;  but,  spite 
of  their  delicate  paleness,  the  expression  of  her  features,  the 
tout  ensemble  of  her  figure,  and  the  gracefulness  of  her  attitude, 
would  have  rendered  her  worthy  of  exercising  the  crayons  of 
even  the  celebrated  artists  we  have  alluded  to. 

The  small  round  cap  of  Fleur-de-Marie  displayed  her  fair 
forehead,  and  light,  braided  hair,  in  common  with  all  the  young 
girls  in  the  environs  of  Paris;  above  this  cap,  but  still  exposing 
the  crown  and  ears,  she  wore  a  large  red  cotton  handkerchief, 
folded  smoothly,  and  pinned  behind  her  head;  while  the  long 


282  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

ends  waving  gracefully  over  her  shoulders  formed  a  costume 
which,  for  graceful  effect,  might  be  envied  even  by  the  tasteful 
coiffeurs  of  Italy  or  Switzerland.  A  handkerchief  of  snow- 
white  linen,  crossed  over  her  bosom,  was  half  concealed  by  the 
high  and  spreading  front  of  her  coarse  cloth  apron.  A  jacket 
of  blue  woolen  cloth  with  tight  sleeves  displayed  her  slender 
figure,  and  descended  half  way  down  her  thick  skirt  of  dark- 
striped  fustian;  white  cotton  stockings  and  tied  shoes,  partly 
covered  by  sabots,  furnished  with  a  leather  strap  for  the  instep, 
completed  this  costume  of  rustic  simplicity,  to  which  the  natural 
grace  of  Fleur-de-Marie  lent  an  inexpressible  charm. 

Holding  in  one  hand  the  two  corners  of  her  apron,  with  the 
other  she  distributed  handfuls  of  grain^among  the  winged  crowd 
by  which  she  was  surrounded.  One  beautiful  pigeon  of  a  silvery 
whiteness,  with  beak  and  feet  of  a  rich  purple  color,  more  pre- 
suming or  more  indulged  than  the  rest,  after  having  flown  several 
times  around  Fleur-de-Marie,  at  length  alighted  on  her  shoulder ; 
the  young  girl,  as  though  well  used  to  these  familiarities,  con- 
tinued, wholly  undisturbed,  to  throw  out  continued  supplies  of 
grain;  but,  half  turning  her  head  till  its  perfect  outline  alone 
was  visible,  she  gently  raised  her  head,  and  smilingly  offered 
her  small  rosy  lips  to  meet  those  of  her  fond,  caressing  friend. 
The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  shed  a  pale  golden  light  over 
this  innocent  picture. 

While  the  Goualeuse  was  thus  occupied  with  her  rural  cares, 
Madame  Georges  and  the  Abbe  Laporte,  cure  of  Bouqueval, 
sitting  by  the  fireside  in  the  neat  little  parlor  of  the  farm,  were 
conversing  on  the  one  constant  theme — Fleur-de-Marie.  The 
old  cure,  with  a  pensive,  thoughtful  air,  his  head  bent  down- 
wards, and  his  elbows  leaning  on  his  knees,  mechanically 
stretched  his  two  trembling  hands  before  the  fire.  Madame 
Georges,  laying  aside  the  needlework  on  which  she  had  been  oc- 
cupied, kept  an  anxious  eye  on  the  abbe,  as  though  eagerly  wait- 
ing for  some  observation  from  him.  After  a  moment's  silence, — 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  you  are  right,  Madame  Georges :  it  will  be 
better  for  M.  Kodolph  to  question  Marie,  for  she  is  so  filled  with 
deep  gratitude  and  devotion  to  him,  that  she  will  probably  reveal 
to  him  what  she  persists  in  concealing  from  us." 

"Then,  since  you  agree  with  me,  M.  le  Cure,  I  will  write, 
this  very  evening,  to  the  address  he  left  with  me, — the  Allee  des 
Veuves." 

"  Poor  child ! "  sighed  the  kind  old  man,  "  she  ought  to  have 
been  so  happy  here;  what  secret  grief  can  thus  be  preying  on 
her  mind  ?  " 


AN  IDYL.  283 

"  Her  unhappiness  is  too  deeply  fixed  to  be  removed  even  by 
her  earnest  and  passionate  application  to  study." 

"And  yet  she  has  made  a  most  rapid  and  extraordinary 
progress  since  she  has  been  under  our  care,  has  she  not  ?  " 

"  She  has,  indeed ;  already  she  can  read  and  write  with  the 
utmost  fluency,  and  is  already  sufficiently  advanced  in  arith- 
metic to  assist  me  in  keeping  my  farm-accounts:  and  then  the 
dear  child  is  so  active  and  industrious,  and  really  affords  me 
so  much  assistance  as  both  surprises  me  and  moves  me  to  tears. 
You  know  that,  spite  of  my  repeated  remonstrances  she  persisted 
in  working  so  hard,  that  I  became  quite  alarmed  lest  such  toil 
should  seriously  affect  her  health." 

"  I  am  thankful  to  hear  from  you,"  resumed  the  worthy 
cure,  "  that  your  Negro  doctor  has  fully  quieted  your  apprehen- 
sions respecting  the  cough  your  young  friend  suffered  from :  he 
says  it  is  merely  temporary,  and  gives  no  reason  for  uneasiness." 

"  Oh,  that  kind,  excellent  M.  David !  he  really  appeared  to 
feel  the  same  interest  in  the  poor  girl  that  we  did  who  know  her 
sad  story.  She  is  universally  beloved  and  respected  by  all  on  the 
farm ;  though  that  is  not  surprising,  as,  thanks  to  the  generous 
and  elevated  views  of  M.  Rodolph,  all  the  persons  employed 
on  it  are  selected  for  their  good  sense  and  excellent  con- 
duct, from  all  parts  of  the  kingdom;  but  were  it  not  so — were 
they  of  the  common  herd  of  vulgar-minded  laborers,  they  could 
not  help  feeling  the  influence  of  Marie's  angelic  sweetness  and 
timid,  graceful  manner,  as  though  she  were  always  deprecating 
anger  or  beseeching  pardon  for  some  involuntary  fault.  Un- 
fortunate being!  as  though  she  alone  were  to  blame." 

After  remaining  for  several  minutes  buried  in  reflection,  the 
abbe  resumed, — 

"  Did  you  not  tell  me  that  this  deep  dejection  of  Marie's  might 
be  dated  from  the  time  when  Madame  Dubreuil,  who  rents  under 
the  Duke  de  Lucenay,  paid  her  a  visit  during  the  feast  of  the 
Holy  Ghost?" 

"  Yes,  M.  le  Cure,  I  did.  And  yet  Madame  Dubreuil  and  her 
daughter  Clara  (a  perfect  model  of  candor  and  goodness)  were 
as  much  taken  with  our  dear  child  as  everyone  else  who  ap- 
proaches her;  and  both  of  them  lavished  on  her  every  mark  of 
the  most  affectionate  regard.  You  know  that  we  pass  the  Sun- 
day alternately  at  each  other's  house;  but  it  invariably  happens 
that,  when  we  return  from  our  Sunday  excursion  to  Arnouville, 
where  Madame  Dubreuil  and  her  daughter  reside,  the  melan- 
choly of  my  dear  Marie  seems  augmented  and  her  spirits  more 
depressed  than  ever.  I  cannot  comprehend  why  this  should  be, 


284  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

when  Madame  Dubreuil  treats  her  like  a  second  daughter,  and 
the  sweet  Clara  loves  her  with  the  tender  affection  of  a  sister." 

"  In  truth,  Madame  Georges,  it  is  a  fearful  mystery ;  what  can 
occasion  all  this  hidden  sorrow,  when  here  she  need  not  have  a 
single  care?  The  difference  between  her  present  and  past  life 
must  be  as  great  as  that  which  exists  between  heaven  and  the 
abode  of  the  damned.  Surely,  hers  is  not  an  ungrateful  dis- 
position?" 

"  She  ungrateful !  oh,  no,  M.  le  Cure !  her  sensitive  and  affec- 
tionate nature  magnifies  the  slightest  service  rendered  her,  and 
she  appears  as  though  her  gratitude  could  never  be  sufficiently 
evinced.  There  is,  too,  in  her  every  thought  an  instinctive  del- 
icacy and  fineness  of  feeling  wholly  -incompatible  with  ingrat- 
itude, which  could  never  be  harbored  in  so  noble  a  nature  as 
that  of  my  charge.  Dear  Marie,  how  anxious  does  she  seem  to 
earn  the  bread  she  eats,  and  how  eagerly  she  strives  to  com- 
pensate the  hospitality  shown  her,  by  every  exertion  she  can 
make  or  service  she  can  render.  And,  then,  except  on  Sunday, 
when  I  make  it  a  point  she  should  dress  herself  with  more  re- 
gard to  appearance  to  accompany  me  to  church,  she  will  only 
wear  the  coarse,  humble  garments  worn  by  our  young  peasant 
girls;  and  yet  there  is  in  her  such  an  air  of  native  superiority, 
so  natural  a  grace,  that  one  would  not  desire  to  see  her  other- 
wise attired,  would  they,  M.  le  Cure  ?  " 

"  Ah,  mother's  pride !    Beware !  "  said  the  old  priest,  smiling. 

At  these  words,  tears  filled  the  eyes  of  Madame  Georges,  she 
thought  of  her  long-lost  child,  and  of  his  possible  destiny. 

"  Come,  come,  dear  friend,  cheer  up !  look  upon  our  dear 
Marie  as  sent  by  a  gracious  Providence  to  occupy  your  maternal 
affections  until  the  blessed  moment  when  he  shall  restore  you 
your  son;  and,  besides,  you  have  a  sacred  duty  to  perform  to- 
wards this  child  of  your  adoption:  are  you  not  her  baptismal 
godmother?  and,  believe  me,  when  that  office  is  worthily  dis- 
charged, it  almost  equals  that  of  a  mother.  As  for  M.  Kodolph, 
he  has  discharged  his  obligation  of  godfather  by  anticipation, 
for,  in  snatching  her  from  the  abyss  of  crime  into  which  her 
misfortunes  and  her  helplessness  had  cast  her,  he  may  be  said 
to  have  caused  her  immortal  existence  to  begin." 

"  Doubtless  the  poor  thing  has  never  received  the  sacrament 
of  our  holy  church :  do  you  think,  M.  le  Cure,  she  is  now  suffi- 
ciently acquainted  with  its  sanctified  purposes  to  be  admitted  to 
a  participation  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  take  an  opportunity  of  learning  her  sentiments  on 
the  subject  as  we  walk  back  to  the  rectory.  I  shall  then  apprise 


AN  IDYL.  285 

her  that  the  holy  ceremony  will  take  place  probably  in  about 
a  fortnight  from  hence. " 

"How  gratefully  she  will  receive  such  an  information;  her 
religious  feelings  are  the  strongest  I  nave  ever  met  with." 

"  Alas,  poor  thing !  she  has  deep  and  heavy  expiation  to  make 
for  the  errors  of  her  past  life." 

"  Nay,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  consider.  Abandoned  so  young,  with- 
out resource,  without  friends,  almost  without  a  knowledge  of 
good  or  evil,  plunged  involuntarily  into  the  very  vortex  of  crime, 
what  was  there  to  prevent  her  from  falling  the  bitter  sacrifice 
she  has  been  ?  " 

"  The  clear,  moral  sense  of  right  and  wrong  implanted  by  the 
Creator  in  every  breast  should  have  withheld  her;  and,  besides, 
we  have  no  evidence  of  her  having  even  sought  to  escape  from 
the  horrible  fate  into  which  she  had  fallen.  Is  there  no  friendly 
hand  to  be  found  in  Paris  to  listen  to  the  cries  of  suffering 
virtue?  is  charity  so  rare,  so  hard  to  obtain  in  that  large  city?" 

"  Let  us  hope  not,  Monsieur  1'Abbe ;  but  how  to  discover  it  is 
the  difficulty.  Ere  arriving  at  the  knowledge  of  one  kind,  com- 
miserating Christian,  think  of  the  refusals,  the  rebukes,  the 
denials  to  be  endured.  And,  then,  in  such  a  case  as  our  poor 
Marie's,  it  was  no  passing,  temporary  aid  that  could  avail  her, 
but  the  steady,  continued  patronage  and  support,  the  being  placed 
in  the  way  to  earn  an  honest  livelihood.  Many  tender  and  pity- 
ing mothers  would  have  succored  her  had  they  known  her  sad 
case,  I  doubt  not,  but  it  was  first  requisite  to  secure  the  happi- 
ness of  knowing  where  to  meet  with  them.  Trust  me,  I  too  have 
known  want  and  misery.  But  for  one  of  those  providential 
chances  which,  alas!  too  late,  threw  poor  Marie  in  the  way  of 
M.  Rodolph ; — but  for  one  of  those  casualties,  the  wretched  and 
destitute,  most  commonly  repulsed  with  rude  denial  on  their 
first  applications,  believe  pity  irretrievably  lost,  and,  pressed  by 
hunger — fierce,  clamorous  hunger,  often  seek  in  vice  that  relief 
they  despair  to  obtain  from  commiseration." 

At  this  moment  the  Goualeuse  entered  the  parlor. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  my  dear  child  ?  "  inquired  Madame 
Georges,  anxiously. 

"  Visiting  the  fruit-house,  madame,  after  having  shut  up  the 
hen-houses  and  gates  of  the  poultry-yard.  All  the  fruit  has 
kept  excellently — all  but  those  I  ran  away  with  and  ate." 

"  Now,  Marie,  why  take  all  this  fatigue  upon  yourself  ?  You 
should  have  left  all  this  tiring  work  to  Claudine;  I  fear  you 
have  quite  tired  yourself." 

"  No,  no !  dear  Madame  Georges ;  I  wouldn't  let  Claudine  help 


286  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARTS. 

me  for  the  world.  I  take  so  much  delight  in  my  fruit-house — 
the  smell  of  the  beautiful  ripe  fruit  is  so  delicious." 

"  M.  le  Cure,"  said  Madame  Georges,  "  you  must  go  some  day 
and  see  Marie's  fruit-house.  You  can  scarcely  imagine  the  taste 
with  which  she  has  arranged  it;  each  different  variety  of  fruit 
is  separated  by  rows  of  grapes,  and  the  grapes  are  again  divided 
off  by  strips  of  moss." 

"  Oh,  yes,  M.  le  Cure ;  pray  do  come  and  see  it,"  said  the 
Goualeuse,  innocently ;  "  I  am  sure  you  would  be  pleased  with 
it.  You  would  be  surprised  what  a  pretty  contrast  the  moss 
makes  to  the  bright  rosy  apples  or  the  rich  golden  pears.  There 
are  some  such  lovely  waxen  apples,  quite  a  pure  red  and  white; 
and  really,  as  they  lie  surrounded  by  the  soft  green  moss,  I  can- 
not help  thinking  of  the  heads  of  little  cherubims  just  peeping 
out  from  the  glorious  clouds  of  heaven,"  added  the  delighted 
Goualeuse,  speaking  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  an  artist  of  the 
work  of  her  creation. 

The  cure  looked  at  Madame  Georges,  then  smilingly  replied 
to  Fleur-de-Marie, — 

"  I  have  already  admired  the  dairy  over  which  you  preside, 
my  child,  and  can  venture  to  declare  it  perfect  in  its  way;  the 
most  particular  dairy-woman  might  envy  you  the  perfection  to 
which  you  have  brought  it.  Ere  long,  I  promise  myself  the 
pleasure  of  visiting  your  fruit-house,  and  passing  a  similar  com- 
pliment on  your  skill  in  arrangement.  You  shall  then  introduce 
me  to  those  charming  rosy  apples  and  delicious  golden  pears, 
as  well  as  to  the  little  cherubim  pippins  so  prettily  peeping  from 
their  mossy  beds.  But  see!  the  sun  has  already  set;  you  will 
scarcely  have  sufficient  time  to  conduct  me  back  to  the  rectory- 
house  and  return  before  dark.  Come,  my  child,  fetch  your  cloak, 
and  let  us  be  gone; — or,  now  -I  think  of  it,  do  you  remain  at 
home  this  cold  bitter  night,  and  let  one  of  the  farm-servants  go 
home  with  me." 

"  Oh !  M.  le  Cure,"  replied  the  kind  Madame  Georges,  "  Marie 
will  be  quite  wretched  if  she  is  not  allowed  to  accompany  you; 
she  so  much  enjoys  the  happiness  of  escorting  you  home  every 
evening." 

"  Indeed,  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  added  the  Goualeuse,  timidly 
raising  her  large  blue  eyes  to  the  priest's  countenance,  "  I  shall 
fear  you  are  displeased  with  me  if  you  do  not  permit  me  to 
accompany  you  as  usual." 

"  Well,  then,  my  dear  child,  wrap  yourself  up  very  warm,  and 
let  us  go." 

Fleur-de-Marie  hastily  threw  over  her  shoulders  a  sort  of  cloak 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  287 

of  coarse  white  cloth,  edged  with  black  velvet,  and  with  a  large 
hood,  to  be  drawn  at  pleasure  over  the  head.  Thus  equipped,  she 
eagerly  offered  her  arm  to  her  venerable  friend. 

"  Happily,"  said  he,  in  taking  it,  "  the  distance  is  but  trifling, 
and  the  road  both  good  and  safe  to  pass  at  all  hours." 

"  As  it  is  somewhat  later  to-night  than  usual,"  said  Madame 
Georges,  "  will  you  have  one  of  the  farm-people  to  return  with 
you,  Marie  ?  " 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  a  coward  ?  "  said  Marie,  playfully.  "  I 
am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  good  opinion,  madame. 
No,  pray  do  not  let  any  one  be  called  away  on  my  account.  It 
is  not  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  walk  from  here  to  the  rectory.  I 
shall  be  back  long  before  dark/' 

"  Well,  as  you  like.  I  merely  thought  it  would  be  company  for 
you ;  for  as  to  fearing,  thank  Heaven,  there  is  no  cause.  Loose 
vagabond  people,  likely  to  interrupt  your  progress,  are  wholly 
unknown  here." 

"  And,  were  I  not  equally  sure  of  the  absence  of  all  danger, 
I  would  not  accept  this  dear  child's  arm,"  added  the  cure,  "  use- 
ful as,  I  confess,  I  find  it." 

And,  leaning  on  Fleur-de-Marie,  who  regulated  her  light  step 
to  suit  the  slow  and  labored  pace  of  the  old  man,  the  two  friends 
quitted  the  farm. 

A  few  minutes'  walk  brought  the  Goualeuse  and  the  priest 
close  to  the  hollow  road  in  which  the  Schoolmaster,  the  Chouette, 
and  Tortillard,  were  lying  in  ambush. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  AMBUSCADE. 

THE  church  and  parsonage  of  Bouqueval  were  placed  on  the 
side  of  a  hill  covered  with  chestnut-trees,  and  commanded  an 
entire  view  of  the  village.  Fleur-de-Marie  and  the  abbe  reached 
a  winding  path  which  led  to  the  clergyman's  home,  crossing  the 
sunken  road  by  which  the  hill  was  intersected  diagonally.  The 
Chouette,  the  Schoolmaster,  and  Tortillard,  concealed  in  one  of 
the  hollows  of  the  road,  saw  the  priest  and  Fleur-de-Marie 
descend  into  the  ravine,  and  leave  it  again  by  a  steep  declivity. 
The  features  of  the  young  girl  being  hidden  under  the  hood  of 
her  cloak,  the  Chouette  did  not  recognize  her  old  victim. 

"  Silence,  my  old  boy,"  said  the  old  harridan  to  the  School- 


288  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

master;  "  the  young  mot  and  the  black  slug  are  just  crossing  the 
path.  I  know  her  by  the  description  which  the  tall  man  in  black 
gave  us:  a  country  appearance,  neither  tall  nor  short;  a  petti- 
coat shot  with  brown,  and  a  woolen  mantle  with  a  black  border. 
She  walks  every  day  with  a  devil-dodger  to  his  crib,  and  returns 
alone.  When  she  comes  back,  which  she  will  do  presently  by 
the  end  of  the  road,  we  must  spring  upon  her  and  carry  her  off 
to  the  coach/* 

"  If  she  cries  for  help,"  replied  the  Schoolmaster,  "  they  will 
hear  her  at  the  farm,  if,  as  you  say,  the  outbuildings  are  visible 
from  here ;  for  you — you  can  see,"  he  added,  in  a  sullen  tone. 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  can  see  the  buildings- from  here  quite  plainly," 
said  Tortillard.  "  It  is  only  a  minute  ago  that  I  climbed  to  the 
top  of  the  bank,  and,  laying  down  on  my  belly,  I  could  hear  a 
carter  who  was  talking  to  his  horses  in  the  yard  there." 

"  I'll  tell  you,  then,  what  we  must  do,"  said  the  Schoolmaster, 
after  a  moment's  silence.  "Let  Tortillard  have  the  watch  at 
the  entrance  to  the  path.  When  he  sees  the  young  girl  returning, 
let  him  go  and  meet  her,  saying  that  he  is  the  son  of  a  poor  old 
woman  who  has  hurt  herself  by  falling  down  the  hollow  road, 
and  beg  the  girl  to  come  to  her  assistance." 

"  I'm  up  to  you,  fourline;  the  poor  old  woman  is  your  darling 
Chouette.  You're  wide  awake!  My  man,  you  are  always  the 
king  of  the  downy  ones  (tetards).  What  must  I  do  afterwards?  " 

"  Conceal  yourself  in  the  hollow  way  on  the  side  where  Bar- 
billon  is  waiting  with  the  coach.  I  will  be  at  hand.  When 
Tortillard  has  brought  the  wench  to  you  in  the  middle  of  the 
ravine,  leave  off  whimpering  and  spring  upon  her,  put  one 
mauley  round  her  squeeze,  and  the  other  into  her  patter-box,  and 
grab  her  red  rag  to  prevent  her  from  squeaking." 

"  I  know,  I  know,  fourline;  as  we  did  with  the  woman  at  the 
canal  of  St.  Martin,  when  we  gave  her  cold  water  for  supper 
(drowned  her),  after  having  prigged  her  negress  (the  parcel 
wrapped  in  black  oilskin)  which  she  had  under  her  arm — the 
same  dodge,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  precisely.  But  mind,  grab  the  girl  tight  whilst  Tortil- 
lard comes  and  fetches  me.  We  three  will  then  bundle  her  up 
in  my  cloak,  carry  her  to  Barbillon's  coach,  from  thence  to  the 
plain  of  Saint  Denis,  where  the  man  in  black  will  await  us." 

"  That's  the  way  to  do  business,  my  fourline;  you  are  without 
an  equal!  If  I  could,  I  would  let  off  a  firework  on  your  head, 
and  illuminate  you  with  the  colors  of  Saint  Chariot,  the  patron 
of  scragsmen.  Do  you  see,  you  urchin?  If  you  would  be  an 
out-and-outer,  make  my  husband  your  model,"  said  the  Chouette 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  289 

boastingly,  to  Tortillard.  Then,  addressing  the  Schoolmaster, 
"  By  the  way,  do  you  know  that  Barbillon  is  in  an  awful  funk 
(fright)  ?  He  thinks  that  he  shall  be  had  up  before  the  beaks 
on  a  swinging  matter." 

"Why?" 

"  The  other  day,  returning  from  Mother  Martial's,  the  widow 
of  the  man  who  was  scragged,  and  who  keeps  the  boozing-ken  in 
the  He  du  Ravageur,  Barbillon,  the  Gros-Boiteux,  and  the  Skele- 
ton, had  a  row  with  the  husband  of  the  milkwoman  who  comes 
every  morning  from  the  country  in  a  little  cart  drawn  by  a 
donkey,  to  sell  her  milk  in  the  Cite,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de 
la  Vieille-Draperie,  close  to  the  ogress's  of  the  'White  Rabbit/ 
and  they  walked  into  him  with  their  slashers  (killed  him  with 
their  knives)." 

The  son  of  Bras  Rouge,  who  did  not  understand  slang,  listened 
to  the  Chouette  with  a  sort  of  disappointed  curiosity. 

"You  would  like  to  know,  little  man,  what  we  are  saying, 
wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  You  were  talking  of  Mother  Martial,  who  is  at  the  He 
du  Ravageur,  near  Asnieres.  I  know  her  very  well,  and  her 
daughter  Calebasse,  and  Frangois  and  Amandine,  who  are  about 
as  old  as  I  am,  and  who  are  made  to  bear  everybody's  snubs  and 
thumps  in  the  house.  But  when  you  talked  of  '  walking  into ' 
(buter)  any  one,  that's  slang,  I  know." 

"  It  is ;  and,  if  you're  a  very  good  chap,  I'll  teach  you  to  patter 
flash.  You're  just  the  age  when  it  may  be  very  useful  to  you. 
Would  you  like  to  learn,  my  precious  lambkin  ?  " 

"  I  rayther  think  I  should,  too,  and  no  mistake ;  and  I  would 
rather  live  with  you  than  with  my  old  cheat  of  a  mountebank, 
pounding  his  drugs.  If  I  knew  where  he  hides  his  rat-poison, 
for  men,  I'd  put  some  in  his  soup,  and  then  that  would  settle 
the  quarrel  between  us." 

The  Chouette  laughed  heartily,  and  said  to  Tortillard,  draw- 
ing him  towards  her, — 

"  Come,  chick,  and  kiss  his  mammy.  What  a  droll  boy  it  is 
— a  darling!  But,  my  mannikin,  how  didst  know  that  he  had 
rat-poison  for  men  ?  " 

"  Why,  'cause  I  heard  him  say  so  one  day  when  I  was  hid  in 
the  cupboard  in  the  room  where  he  keeps  his  bottles,  his  brass 
machines,  and  where  he  mixes  his  stuffs  together." 

"  What  did  you  hear  him  say  ?  "  asked  the  Chouette. 

"  I  heard  him  say  to  a  gentleman  that  he  gave  a  powder  to, 
in  a  paper,  '  When  you  are  tired  of  life,  take  this  in  three  doses, 
and  you  will  sleep  without  sickness  or  sorrow.' " 


290  TBX  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Who  was  the  gentleman  ?  "  asked  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  Oh,  a  very  handsome  gentleman  with  black  moustachios,  and 
a  face  as  pretty  as  a  girl's.  He  came  another  time;  and  then, 
when  he  left,  I  followed  him,  by  M.  Bradamanti's  order,  to  find 
out  where  he  perched.  The  fine  gentleman  went  into  the  Rue 
de  Chaillot,  and  entered  a  very  grand  house.  My  master  said  to 
me,  t  No  matter  where  this  gentleman  goes,  follow  and  wait  for 
him  at  the  door.  If  he  comes  out  again,  still  keep  your  eye  on 
him,  until  he  does  not  come  from  out  of  the  place  where  he 
enters,  and  that  will  prove  that  he  lives  there.  Then,  Tortillard, 
my  boy,  twist  (tortille)  yourself  about  to  find  out  his  name,  or  I 
will  twist  your  ears  in  a  way  that  will  astonish  you.' " 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  I  did  twist  myself  about,  and  found  out  his  name." 

"  How  did  you  manage  it  ?  "  inquired  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  Why,  so.  I'm  not  a  fool ;  so  I  went  to  the  porter  at  the 
house  in  the  Rue  de  Chaillot,  where  this  gentleman  had  gone  in 
and  not  come  out  again.  The  porter  had  his  hair  finely  pow- 
dered, with  a  fine  brown  coat  with  a  yellow  collar  trimmed  with 
silver.  So  I  says  to  him,  '  Good  gentleman,  I  have  come  to  ask 
for  a  hundred  sous  which  the  gentleman  of  the  house  has 
promised  me  for  having  found  his  dog  and  brought  it  back  to 
him — a  little  black  dog  called  Trumpet;  and  the  gentleman  with 
dark  features,  with  black  moustachios,  a  white  riding-coat,  and 
light  blue  pantaloons,  told  me  he  lived  at  No.  11  Rue  de  Chaillot, 
and  that  his  name  was  Dupont.'  '  The  gentleman  you're  talking 
of  is  my  master,  and  his  name  is  the  Viscount  de  Saint  Remy, 
and  we  have  no  dog  here  but  yourself,  you  young  scamp ;  so  cut 
your  stick,  or  I'll  make  you  remember  coming  here,  and  trying 
to  do  me  out  of  a  hundred  sous/  says  the  porter  to  me ;  and  he 
gave  me  a  kick  as  he  said  it.  But  I  didn't  mind  that,"  added 
Tortillard  most  philosophically ;  "  for  I  found  out  the  name  of 
the  handsome  young  gentleman  with  black  moustachios,  who 
came  to  my  master's  to  buy  the  *  rat-poison  for  men '  who  are 
tired  of  living.  He  is  called  the  Viscount  de  Saint-Remy — my 
— my — Saint-Remy,"  added  the  son  of  Bras  Rouge,  humming 
the  last  words,  as  was  his  usual  habit. 

"  Clever  little  darling — I  could  eat  him  up  alive !  "  said  the 
Chouette,  embracing  Tortillard.  "  Never  was  such  a  knowing 
fellow !  He  deserves  that  I  should  be  his  mother,  the  dear  rascal 
does." 

And  the  hag  embraced  Tortillard  with  an  absurd  affectation. 
The  son  of  Bras  Rouge,  touched  by  this  proof  of  affection,  and 
desirous  of  showing  his  gratitude,  eagerly  answered, — 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  291 

"  Only  you  tell  me  what  to  do,  and  you  shall  see  how  I'll  do 
it." 

"  Will  you,  though  ?    Well,  then,  you  shan't  repent  doing  so." 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  always  to  stay  with  you !  " 

"  If  you  behave  well,  we  may  see  about  that.  You  shan't  leave 
us  if  you  are  a  good  boy." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  "  you  shall  lead  me  about  like 
a  poor  blind  man,  and  say  you  are  my  son.  We  will  get  into 
houses  in  this  way,  and  then — ten  thousand  slaughters !  "  added 
the  assassin  with  enthusiasm;  "the  Chouette  will  assist  us  in 
making  lucky  hits.  I  will  then  teach  that  devil  of  a  Rodolph, 
who  blinded  me,  that  I  am  not  yet  quite  done  for.  He  took 
away  my  eyesight,  but  he  could  not,  did  not,  remove  my  bent 
for  mischief.  I  would  be  the  head,  Tortillard  the  eyes,  and  you 
the  hand — eh,  Chouette?  You  will  help  me  in  this,  won't 
you?" 

"  Am  I  not  with  you  to  gallows  and  rope,  fourline  ?  Didn't  I, 
when  I  left  the  hospital,  and  learnt  that  you  had  sent  the  yokel 
from  St.  Mande  to  ask  for  me  at  the  ogress's — didn't  I  run  to 
you  at  the  village  directly,  telling  those  chawbacons  of  laborers 
that  I  was  your  rib  ?  " 

These  words  of  the  "  one-eyed's  "  reminded  the  Schoolmaster 
of  an  unpleasant  affair,  and,  altering  his  tone  and  language  with 
the  Chouette,  he  said,  in  a  surly  tone, — 

"Yes,  I  was  getting  tired  of  being  all  by  myself  with  these 
honest  people.  After  a  month  I  could  not  stand  it  any  longer; 
I  was  frightened.  So  then  I  thought  of  trying  to  find  you  out ; 
and  a  nice  thing  I  did  for  myself,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  of  in- 
creasing anger ;  "  for  the  day  after  you  arrived  I  was  robbed  of 
the  rest  of  the  money  which  that  devil  in  the  Allee  des  Veuves 
had  given  me.  Yes,  some  one  stole  my  belt  full  of  gold  whilst 
I  was  asleep.  It  was  only  you  who  could  have  done  it;  and  so 
now  I  am  at  your  mercy.  Whenever  I  think  of  it,  I  can  hardly 
restrain  myself  from  killing  you  on  the  spot — you  cursed  old 
robber,  you ! "  and  he  stepped  towards  the  old  woman. 

"Look  out  for  yourself,  if  you  try  to  do  any  harm  to  the 
Chouette !  "  cried  Tortillard. 

"I  will  smash  you  both — you  and  she — base  vipers  as  you 
are !  "  cried  the  ruffian,  enraged ;  and,  hearing  the  boy  mumbling 
near  him,  he  aimed  at  him  so  violent  a  blow  with  his  fist,  as 
must  have  killed  him  if  it  had  struck  him.  Tortillard,  as  much 
to  revenge  himself  as  the  Chouette,  picked  up  a  stone,  took  aim, 
and  struck  the  Schoolmaster  on  the  forehead.  The  blow  was  not 
dangerous,  but  very  painful.  The  brigand  grew  furious  with 


292  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

passion,  raging  like  a  wounded  bull,  and,  rushing  forward  swiftly 
and  at  random,  stumbled. 

"  What,  break  your  own  back?  "  shouted  the  Chouette,  laugh- 
ing till  she  cried. 

Despite  the  bloody  ties  which  bound  her  to  this  monster,  she 
saw  how  entirely,  and  with  a  sort  of  savage  delight,  this  man, 
formerly  so  dreaded,  and  so  proud  of  his  giant  strength,  was 
reduced  to  impotence.  The  old  wretch,  by  these  feelings,  justi- 
fied that  cold-blooded  idea  of  La  Eochefoucauld's,  that  "there 
is  something  in  the  misfortunes  of  our  best  friends  which  does 
not  displease  us."  The  disgusting  brat,  with  his  tawny  cheeks 
and  weazel  face,  enjoyed  and  participated  in  the  mirth  of  the 
one-eyed  hag.  The  Schoolmaster  tripped  again,  and  the  urchin 
exclaimed, — 

"Open  your  peepers,  old  fellow;  look  about  you.  You  are 
going  the  wrong  way.  What  capers  you  are  cutting !  Can't  you 
see  your  way  ?  Why  don't  you  wipe  your  eye-glasses  ?  " 

Unable  to  seize  on  the  boy,  the  athletic  murderer  stopped, 
struck  his  foot  violently  on  the  ground,  put  his  enormous  and 
hairy  fists  to  his  eyes,  and  then  uttered  a  sound  which  resembled 
the  hoarse  scream  of  a  muzzled  tiger. 

"  Got  a  bad  cough,  I'm  afraid,  old  chap ! "  said  Bras  Rouge's 
brat.  "  You're  hoarse,  I'm  afraid?  I  have  some  capital  licorice 
which  a  gendarme  gave  me.  P'raps  you'd  like  to  try  it  ?  "  and, 
taking  up  a  handful  of  sand,  he  threw  it  in  the  face  of  the 
ruffian. 

Struck  full  in  his  countenance  by  this  shower  of  gravel,  the 
Schoolmaster  suffered  still  more  severely  by  this  last  attack  than 
by  the  blow  from  the  stone.  Become  pale,  in  spite  of  his  livid 
and  cicatrized  features,  he  extended  his  two  arms  suddenly  in 
the  form  of  a  cross,  in  a  moment  of  inexpressible  agony  and 
despair,  and,  raising  his  frightful  face  to  heaven,  he  cried,  in  a 
voice  of  deep  suffering, — 

"MonDieu!   Mon  Dieu!   NonDieu!" 

This  involuntary  appeal  to  Divine  mercy  by  a  man  stained  by 
every  crime,  a  bandit  in  whose  presence  but  very  recently  the 
most  resolute  of  his  fellows  trembled,  appeared  like  an  inter- 
position of  Providence. 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  "  said  the  Chouette,  in  a  mocking  tone ;  "  look 
at  the  thief  making  the  crucifix!  You  mistake  your  road,  my 
man.  It  is  the  '  old  one  '  you  should  call  to  your  help." 

"  A  knife !  Oh,  for  a  knife  to  kill  myself !  A  knife !  since 
all  the  world  abandons  me ! "  shrieked  the  wretch,  gnawing  his 
fists  for  very  agony  and  rage. 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  293 

"  A  knife ! — there's  one  in  your  pocket,  cut-throat,  and  with 
an  edge,  too.  The  little  old  man  in  the  Rue  du  Roule,  you  know, 
one  moonlight  night,  and  the  cattle-dealer  in  the  Poissy  road, 
could  tell  the  moles  all  about  it.  But  if  you  want  it,  it's  here." 

The  Schoolmaster,  when  thus  instructed,  changed  the  con- 
versation, and  replied,  in  a  surly  and  threatening  tone, — 

"  The  Chourineur  was  true ;  he  did  not  rob,  but  had  pity  on 
me." 

"  Why  did  you  say  that  I  had  prigged  your  'blunt  ?  "  inquired 
the  Chouette,  hardly  able  to  restrain  her  laughter. 

"  It  was  only  you  who  came  into  my  room,"  said  the  miscreant. 
"  I  was  robbed  on  the  night  of  your  arrival,  and  who  else  could 
I  suspect?  Those  country  people  could  not  have  done  such  a 
thing." 

"  Why  should  not  country  people  steal  as  well  as  other  folks  ? 
Is  it  because  they  drink  milk  and  gather  grass  for  their 
rabbits?" 

"  I  don't  know.    I  only  know  I'm  robbed." 

"  And  is  that  the  fault  of  your  own  Chouette?  What!  suspect 
me?  Do  you  think  if  I  had  got  your  belt  that  I  should  stay  any 
longer  with  you.  What  a  fool  you  are !  Why,  if  I  had  chosen  to 
pouch  your  blunt,  I  could,  of  course ;  but,  as  true  as  I'm  Chou- 
ette, you  would  have  seen  me  again  when  the  '  pewter '  was  spent, 
for  I  like  you  as  well  now  with  your  eyes  white,  as  I  did — you 
rogue,  you!  Come,  be  decent,  and  leave  off  grinding  your 
'  snags '  in  that  way,  or  you'll  break  'em." 

"  It's  just  as  if  he  was  a-cracking  nuts,"  said  Tortillard. 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  what  a  droll  baby  it  is  !  But  quiet,  now  quiet, 
my  man  of  men ;  let  him  laugh,  it  is  but  an  infant.  You  must 
own  you  have  been  unfair ;  for  when  the  tall  man  in  mourning, 
who  looks  like  a  mute  at  a  funeral,  said  to  me,  *  A  thousand 
francs  are  yours  if  you  carry  off  this  young  girl  from  the  farm 
at  Bouqueval,  and  bring  her  to  the  spot  in  the  Plain  of  St.  Denis 
that  I  shall  tell  you ; '  say,  cut-throat,  didn't  I  directly  tell  you 
of  the  affair  and  agree  to  share  with  you,  instead  of  choosing 
some  pal  with  his  eyesight  clear?  Why,  it's  like  making  you  a 
handsome  present  for  doing  nothing;  for  unless  to  bundle  up 
the  girl  and  carry  her,  with  Tortillard's  assistance,  you  would 
be  of -no  more  use  to  me  than  the  fifth  wheel  to  an  omnibus.  But 
never  mind ;  for,  although  I  could  have  robbed  you  if  I  would,  I 
like,  on  the  contrary,  to  do  you  service.  I  should  wish  you  to 
owe  everything  to  your  darling  Chouette — that's  my  way,  that  is. 
We  must  give  two  hundred  bob  to  Barbillon  for  driving  the 
coach,  and  coming  once  before  with  the  servant  of  the  tall  man 


294:  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

in  mourning,  to  look  about  the  place  and  determine  where  we 
should  hide  ourselves  whilst  we  waited  for  the  young  miss;  and 
then  we  shall  have  eight  hundred  bob  between  us.  What  do  you 
say  to  that,  old  boy  ?  What !  still  angry  with  your  old  woman  ?  " 

"  How  do  I  know  that  you  will  give  me  a  '  mag '  when  once 
the  thing's  done.  Why! — I" — said  the  ruffian,  in  a  tone  of 
gloomy  distrust. 

"Why,  if  I  like,  I  need  not  give  you  a  dump,  that's  true 
enough ;  for  you  are  on  my  gridiron,  my  lad,  as  I  once  had  the 
Goualeuse;  and  so  I  will  broil  you  to  my  own  taste,  till  the  'old 
one '  gets  the  cooking  of  my  darling — ha  !  ha !  ha !  What,  still 
sulky  with  your  Chouette  ?  "  added  the  horrible  woman,  patting 
the  shoulder  of  the  ruffian,  who  stood  mute  and  motionless. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh  of  concentrated  rage ; 
"  it  is  my  fate — mine — mine !  At  the  mercy  of  a  woman  and 
child  whom  but  lately  I  could  have  killed  with  a  blow.  Oh,  if  I 
were  not  afraid  of  dying ! "  said  he,  falling  back  against  the 
bank. 

"  What !  a  coward ! — you — you  a  coward ! "  said  the  Chouette, 
contemptuously.  "  Why,  you'll  be  talking  next  of  your  con- 
science! What  a  precious  farce!  Well,  if  you  haven't  more 
pluck  than  that,  I'll  cut  and  leave  you." 

"  And  that  I  cannot  have  my  revenge  of  the  man  who  in  thus 
making  a  martyr  of  me  has  reduced  me  to  the  wretched  situation 
in  which  I  am ! "  screamed  the  Schoolmaster,  in  a  renewal  of 
fury.  "  I  am  afraid  of  death — yes,  I  own  it,  I  am  afraid.  But 
if  I  were  told,  '  This  man  Kodolph  is  between  your  arms — your 
two  arms — and  now  you  shall  both  be  flung  into  a  pit,'  I  would 
say,  '  Throw  us  then  at  once/  Yes,  for  then  I  should  be  safe  not 
to  relax  my  clutch,  till  we  both  reached  the  bottom  together. 
I  would  fix  my  teeth  in  his  face — his  throat — his  heart.  I  would 
tear  him  to  pieces  with  my  teeth — yes,  my  teeth ;  for  I  should  be 
jealous  of  a  knife !  " 

"  Bravo,  fourline!  now  you  are  my  own  dear  love  again.  Calm 
yourself.  We  will  find  him  again,  that  wretch  of  a  Kodolph,  and 
the  Chourineur  too.  Come,  pluck  up,  old  man ;  we  will  yet  work 
our  will  on  them  both.  I  say  it,  on  both !  " 

"  Well,  then,  you  will  not  forsake  me  ?  "  cried  the  brigand  to 
the  Chouette  in  a  subdued  tone,  mingled,  however,  with  distrust. 
"  If  you  do  leave  me,  what  will  become  of  me  ?  " 

"  That's  true.  I  say,  fourline,  what  a  joke  if  Tortillard  and 
I  were  to  mizzle  with  the  drag,  and  leave  you  where  you  are — 
in  the  middle  of  the  fields ;  and  the  night  air  begins  to  nip  very 
sharp.  I  say,  it  would  be  a  joke,  old  cutpurse,  wouldn't  it?" 


THE  AMBUSCADE.  295 

At  this  threat  the  Schoolmaster  shuddered,  and,  coming 
towards  the  Chouette,  said  tremulously,  "  No,  no,  you  wouldn't 
do  that,  Chouette;  nor  you,  Tortillard.  It  would  be  too  bad, 
wouldn't  it  ?  " 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Too  bad,  says  he,  the  gentle  dear !  And  the 
little  old  man  in  the  Rue  du  Roule ;  and  the  cattle-dealer  and  the 
woman  in  St.  Martin's  Canal;  and  the  gentleman  in  the  Allee 
des  Veuves;  they  found  you  nice  and  amiable,  I  don't  think — 
didn't  they — with  your  larding-pin?  Why,  then,  in  your 
turn,  shouldn't  you  be  left  to  such  tender  mercy  as  you  have 
showed  ?  " 

"  I'm  in  your  power ;  don't  abuse  it,"  said  the  Schoolmaster. 
"  Come,  come,  I  confess  I  was  wrong  to  suspect  you.  I  was 
wrong  to  try  and  thump  Tortillard ;  and,  you  see,  I  beg  pardon ; 
and  of  you  too,  Tortillard.  Yes,  I  ask  pardon  of  both." 

"  I  will  have  you  ask  pardon  on  your  knees  for  having  tried 
to  beat  the  Chouette,"  said  Tortillard. 

"  You  rum  little  beggar,  how  funny  you  are ! "  said  the 
Chouette,  laughing  loudly;  "but  I  should  like  to  see  what  a 
'  guy '  you  will  make  of  yourself.  So  on  your  knees,  as  if  you 
were  pattering  love  to  your  old  darling.  Come,  do  it  directly,  or 
we  will  leave  you ;  and  I  tell  you  that  in  half  an  hour  it  will  be 
quite  dark,  though  you  don't  look  as  if  you  thought  so,  old  '  No- 
Eyes.'  " 

"Night  or  day,  what's  that  to  him?"  said  Tortillard,  saucily. 
"  The  gentleman  always  has  his  shutters  closed." 

"  Then  here,  on  my  knees,  I  humbly  ask  your  pardon,  Chou- 
ette ;  and  yours  also,  Tortillard  !  Will  not  that  content  you  ?  " 
said  the  robber,  kneeling  in  the  middle  of  the  highway.  "  And 
now  will  you  leave  me  ?  " 

This  strange  group,  enclosed  by  the  embankment  of  the  ravine, 
and  lighted  by  the  red  glimmer  of  the  twilight,  was  hideous  to 
behold.  In  the  middle  of  the  road  the  Schoolmaster,  on  his 
knees,  extended  his  large  and  coarse  hands  towards  the  one-eyed 
hag;  his  thick  and  matted  hair,  which  his  fright  had  dishevelled, 
left  exposed  his  motionless,  rigid,  glassy,  dead  eyeballs — the  very 
glance  of  a  corpse.  Stooping  deprecatingly  his  broad-spread 
shoulders,  this  Hercules  kneels  abjectly,  and  trembles  at  the  feet 
of  an  old  woman  and  a  child! 

The  old  hag  herself,  wrapped  in  a  red-checked  shawl,  her  head 
covered  with  an  old  cap  of  black  lace,  which  allowed. some  locks 
of  her  grizzled  hair  to  escape,  looked  down  with  an  air  of  haughty 
contempt  and  domineering  pride  on  the  Schoolmaster.  The 
bony,  scorched,  shriveled,  and  livid  countenance  of  the  parrot- 


296  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

nosed  old  harridan  expressed  a  savage  and  insulting  joy;  her 
small  but  fierce  eye  glistened  like  a  burning  coal;  a  sinister 
expression  curled  her  lips,  shaded  with  long  straight  hairs,  and 
revealed  three  or  four  large,  yellow,  and  decayed  fangs. 

Tortillard,  clothed  in  a  blouse  with  a  leathern  belt,  standing 
on  one  leg,  leaned  on  the  Chouette's  arm  to  keep  himself  upright. 
The  bad  expression  and  cunning  look  of  this  deformed  imp,  with 
a  complexion  as  sallow  as  his  hair,  betokened  at  this  moment  his 
disposition — half  fiend,  half  monkey.  The  shadow  cast  from  the 
declivity  of  the  ravine  increased  the  horrid  tout  ensemble  of  the 
scene,  which  the  increasing  darkness  half  hid. 

"  Promise  me — oh,  promise  me — at  least,  not  to  forsake  me !  " 
repeated  the  Schoolmaster,  frightened  by  the  silence  of  the  Chou- 
ette  and  Tortillard,  who  were  enjoying  his  dismay.  "  Are  you 
not  here  ?  "  added  the  murderer,  leaning  forwards  to  listen,  and 
advancing  his  arms  mechanically. 

"Yes,  my  man,  we  are  here;  don't  be  frightened.  Forsake 
you!  leave  my  love!  the  man  of  my  heart!  no,  I'd  sooner  be 
scragged!  Once  for  all,  I  will  tell  you  why  I  will  not  forsake 
you.  Listen,  and  profit.  I  have  always  liked  to  have  some  one 
in  my  grip — beast  or  Christian.  Before  I  had  Pegriotte  (oh! 
that  the  '  old  one '  would  return  her  to  my  clutch !  for  I  have 
still  my  idea  of  scaling  off  her  beauty  with  my  bottle  of  vitriol) 
— before  Pegriotte's  turn,  I  had  a  brat  who  froze  to  death  under 
my  care.  For  that  little  job,  I  got  six  years  in  the  Stone  Jug. 
Then  I  used  to  have  little  birds,  which  I  used  to  tame,  and  then 
pluck  'em  alive.  Ha !  ha !  but  that  was  troublesome  work,  for 
they  did  not  last  long.  When  I  left  the  Jug,  the  Goualeuse  came 
to  hand ;  but  the  little  brat  ran  away  before  I  had  had  half  my 
fun  out  of  her  carcass.  Well,  then  I  had  a  dog,  who  had  his 
little  troubles  as  well  as  she  had ;  and  I  cut  off  one  of  his  hind 
feet  and  one  of  his  fore  feet;  and  you  never  saw  such  a  rum 
beggar  as  I  made  of  him ;  I  almost  burst  my  sides  with  laughing 
at  him!" 

"  I  must  serve  a  dog  I  know  of,  who  bit  me  one  day,  in  the 
same  way,"  said  the  promising  Master  Tortillard. 

"  When  I  fell  in  again  with  you,  my  darling,"  continued  the 
Chouette,  "  I  was  trying  what  I  could  do  that  was  miserable  with 
a  cat.  Well,  now,  at  this  moment,  you,  old  boy,  shall  be  my  cat, 
my  dog,  my  bird,  my  Pegriotte ;  you  shall  be  anything  to  worry 
(bete  de  souff ranee).  Do  you  understand,  my  love?  Instead  of 
having  a  bird  or  a  child  to  make  miserable,  I  shall  have,  as  it 
were,  a  wolf  or  a  tiger.  I  think  that's  rather  a  bright  idea; 
isn't  it?" 


THE  RECTORY-HOUSE.  297 

"  Hag !  devil ! "  cried  the  Schoolmaster,  rising  in  a  desperate 
rage. 

"  What,  my  pet  angry  with  his  darling  old  deary !  Well,  if  it 
must  be  so,  it  must.  Have  your  own  way ;  you  have  a  right  to  it. 
Good  night,  blind  sheep !  " 

"  The  field-gate  is  wide  open,  so  walk  alone,  Mister  No-eyes ; 
and,  if  you  toddle  straight,  you'll  reach  the  right  road  somehow," 
said  Tortillard,  laughing  heartily. 

"Oh,  that  I  could  die!  die!  die!"  said  the  Schoolmaster, 
writhing  and  twisting  his  arms  about  in  agony. 

At  this  moment,  Tortillard,  stooping  to  the  ground,  exclaimed, 
in  a  low  voice, — 

"  I  hear  footsteps  in  the  path ;  let  us  hide ;  it  is  not  the  young 
miss,  for  they  come  the  same  way  as  she  did." 

On  the  instant,  a  stout  peasant  girl  in  the  prime  of  youth, 
followed  by  a  large  shepherd's  dog,  carrying  on  her  head  an  open 
basket,  appeared,  and  followed  the  same  path  which  the  priest 
and  the  Goualeuse  had  taken.  We  will  rejoin  the  two  latter, 
leaving  the  three  accomplices  concealed  in  the  hollow  of  the 
path. 


CHAPTEE  XXX. 

THE  RECTORY-HOUSE. 

THE  last  rays  of  the  sun  were  gradually  disappearing  behind 
the  vast  pile  of  the  Chateau  d'Ecouen  and  the  woods  which  sur- 
rounded it.  On  all  sides,  until  the  sight  lost  them  in  the  dis- 
tance, were  vast  tracts  of  land  lying  in  brown  furrows  hardened 
by  the  frost — an  extensive  desert,  of  which  the  hamlet  of  Bou- 
queval  appeared  to  be  the  oasis.  The  sky,  which  was  serenely 
glorious,  was  tinted  by  the  sunset,  and  glowed  with  long  lines  of 
empurpled  light,  the  certain  token  of  wind  and  cold.  These 
tints,  which  were  at  first  of  a  deep  red,  became  violet;  then  a 
bluish  black,  as  the  twilight  grew  more  and  more  dark  on  the 
atmosphere.  The  crescent  of  the  moon  was  as  delicately  and 
clearly  defined  as  a  silver  ring,  and  began  to  shine  beautifully  in 
the  midst  of  the  blue  and  dimmed  sky,  where  many  stars  already 
had  appeared.  The  silence  was  profound — the  hour  most  solemn. 
The  curate  stopped  for  a  moment  on  the  summit  of  the  acclivity 
to  enjoy  the  calm  of  this  delicious  evening.  After  some  minutes' 
reflection,  he  extended  his  trembling  hand  towards  the  depths 


298  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

of  the  horizon,  half  veiled  by  the  shadows  of  the  evening,  and 
said  to  Fleur-de-Marie,  who  was  walking  pensively  beside  him, — 

"  Look,  my  child,  at  the  vastness  and  extent  to  which  we  have 
no  visible  limit :  we  hear  not  the  slightest  sound.  Say,  does  not 
this  silence  give  us  an  idea  of  infinity  and  of  eternity?  I  say 
this  to  you,  Marie,  because  you  are  peculiarly  sensitive  of  the 
beauties  of  creation.  I  have  often  been  struck  at  the  admiration, 
alike  poetical  and  religious,  with  which  they  inspire  you — you, 
a  poor  prisoner  so  long  deprived  of  them.  Are  you  not,  as  I  am, 
struck  with  the  solemn  tranquillity  of  the  hour  ?  " 

The  Goualeuse  made  no  reply.  The  cure,  regarding  her  with 
astonishment,  found  she  was  weeping. 

"  What  ails  you,  my  child  ?  " 

"  My  father,  I  am  unhappy !  " 

"  Unhappy ! — you  ? — still  unhappy !  " 

"  I  know  it  is  ingratitude  to  complain  of  my  lot  after  all  that 
has  been  and  is  done  for  me;  and  yet " 

"And  yet?" 

"  Father,  I  pray  of  you  forgive  my  sorrows ;  their  expression 
may  offend  my  benefactors/' 

"  Listen,  Marie.  We  have  often  asked  you  the  cause  of  these 
sorrows  with  which  you  are  depressed,  and  which  excite  in  your 
second  mother  the  most  serious  uneasiness.  You  have  avoided 
all  reply,  and  we  have  respected  your  secret  whilst  we  have  been 
afflicted  at  not  being  able  to  solace  your  sorrows." 

"  Alas !  good  father,  I  dare  not  tell  you  what  is  passing  in  my 
mind.  I  have  been  moved,  as  you  have  been,  at  the  sight  of  this 
calm  and  saddening  evening.  My  heart  is  sorely  afflicted,  and  I 
have  wept." 

"  But  what  ails  you,  Marie  ?  You  know  how  we  love  you ! 
Come,  tell  me  all.  You  should ;  for  I  must  tell  you  that  the  time 
is  very  close  at  hand  when  Madame  Georges  and  M.  Eodolph 
will  present  you  at  the  baptismal  font,  and  take  upon  themselves 
the  engagement  before  God  to  protect  you  all  the  days  of  your 
life." 

"  M.  Eodolph  ! — he  who  has  saved  me  ?  "  cried  Fleur-de-Marie, 
clasping  her  hands ;  "  he  will  deign  to  give  me  this  new  proof  of 
affection !  Oh,  indeed,  my  father,  I  can  no  longer  conceal  from 
you  anything,  lest  I  should,  indeed,  deserve  to  be  called  and 
thought  an  ingrate." 

"Aningrate!    How?" 

"  That  you  may  understand  me,  I  must  begin  and  tell  you  of 
my  first  day  at  the  farm." 

"  Then  let  us  talk  as  we  walk  on." 


TUB  RECTORY-HOUSE.  299 

"  You  will  be  indulgent  to  me,  my  father  ?  What  I  shall  say 
may  perhaps  be  wrong." 

"  The  Lord  has  shown  his  mercy  unto  you.    Be  of  good  heart." 

"  When,"  said  Fleur-de-Marie,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
"  I  knew  that,  on  arriving  here,  I  should  not  again  leave  the 
farm  and  Madame  Georges,  I  believed  it  was  all  a  dream.  At 
first  I  felt  giddy  with  my  happiness,  and  thought  every  moment 
of  M.  Rodolph.  Very  often  when  I  was  alone,  and  in  spite  of 
myself,  I  raised  my  eyes  to  heaven,  as  if  to  seek  him  there  and 
thank  him.  Afterwards  (and  I  was  wrong,  father),  I  thought 
more  of  him  than  God,  attributing  to  him  what  God  alone  could 
do.  I  was  happy — as  happy  as  a  creature  who  has  suddenly  and 
entirely  escaped  from  a  great  danger.  You  and  Madame  Georges 
were  so  kind  to  me,  that  I  thought  I  deserved  pity  rather  than 
blame." 

The  cure  looked  at  the  Goualeuse  with  an  air  of  surprise.  She 
continued, — 

"  Gradually  I  became  used  to  my  sweet  course  of  life.  I  no 
longer  felt  fear  when  I  awoke,  of  finding  myself  at  the  ogress's. 
I  seemed  to  sleep  in  full  security,  and  all  my  delight  was  to 
assist  Madame  Georges  in  her  work,  and  to  apply  myself  to  the 
lesson  you  gave  me,  my  father,  as  well  as  to  profit  by  your  advice 
and  exhortation.  Except  some  moments  of  shame,  when  I  re- 
flected on  the  past,  I  thought  myself  equal  to  all  the  world, 
because  all  the  world  was  so  kind  to  me.  When,  one  day " 

Here  sobs  cut  short  poor  Fleur-de-Marie's  narration. 

"  Come,  come,  my  poor  child,  calm  yourself.  Courage, 
courage !  " 

The  Goualeuse  wiped  her  eyes,  and  resumed : 

"You  recollect,  father,  during  the  fetes  of  the  Toussaints, 
that  Madame  Dubreuil,  who  superintends  the  Duke  de  Luce- 
nay's  farm  at  Arnouville,  came,  with  her  daughter,  to  pass  some 
time  with  us  ?  " 

"I  do ;  and  I  was  delighted  to  see  you  form  an  acquaintance 
with  Clara  Dubreuil,  who  is  a  very  excellent  girl." 

"  She  is  an  angel — an  angel,  father.  When  I  knew  that  she 
was  coming  to  stay  for  some  days  at  the  farm,  my  delight  was 
so  great  that  I  could  think  of  nothing  else  but  the  moment  when 
she  would  arrive.  At  length  she  came.  I  was  in  my  room,  which 
she  was  to  share  with  me ;  and,  whilst  I  was  putting  it  into  nice 
order,  I  was  sent  for.  I  went  into  the  saloon,  my  heart  beating 
excessively,  when  Madame  Georges,  presenting  me  to  the  pretty 
young  lady,  whose  looks  were  so  kind  and  good,  said,  '  Marie, 
here  is  a  friend  for  you.'  '  I  hope/  added  Madame  Dubreuil, 


300  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PA&I8. 

'  that  you  and  my  daughter  will  soon  be  like  two  sisters ' ;  and 
hardly  had  her  mother  uttered  these  words,  than  Mademoiselle 
Clara  came  and  embraced  me.  Then,  father,"  continued  Fleur- 
de-Marie,  weeping,  "  I  do  not  know  what  came  over  me ;  but, 
when  I  felt  the  fresh  and  fair  face  of  Clara  pressed  against  my 
cheek  of  shame,  that  cheek  became  scorching  with  guilt — re- 
morse. I  remembered  who  and  what  I  was; — I — I — to  receive 
the  caresses  of  a  good  and  virtuous  girl ! " 

"Why,  my  child ?" 

"  Ah,  my  father,"  cried  Fleur-de-Marie,  interrupting  the  cure 
with  painful  emotion,  "  when  M.  Eodolph  took  me  away  from 
the  Cite,  I  began  vaguely  to  be  conscious  of  the  depth  of  my 
degradation.  But  do  you  think  'that  education,  advice,  the 
examples  I  receive  from  Madame  Georges  and  yourself,  have  not, 
whilst  they  have  enlightened  my  mind,  made  me,  alas !  to  com- 
prehend but  too  clearly  that  I  have  been  more  culpable  than  un- 
fortunate? Before  Clara's  arrival,  when  these  thoughts  grew 
upon  me,  I  drove  them  away  by  seeking  to  please  Madame 
Georges  and  you,  father.  If  I  blushed  for  the  past,  it  was  only 
in  my  own  presence.  But  the  sight  of  this  young  lady  of  my 
own  age,  so  charming,  so  virtuous,  has  conjured  up  the  recollec- 
tion of  the  distance  that  exists  between  us;  and,  for  the  first 
time,  I  have  felt  that  there  are  wrongs  which  nothing  can  efface. 
From  that  time  the  thought  has  haunted  me  perpetually,  and, 
in  spite  of  myself,  I  recur  to  it.  From  that  day  I  have  not  had 
one  moment's  repose.  The  Goualeuse  again  wiped  her  eyes,  that 
swam  in  tears. 

1     After  having  looked  at  her  for  some  moments  with  a  gaze  of 
the  tenderest  pity,  the  cure"  replied, — 

"Reflect,  my  child,  that  if  Madame  Georges  desired  to  see 
you  the  friend  of  Mademoiselle  Dubreuil,  it  was  that  she  felt 
you  were  worthy  of  such  a  confidence  from  your  good  conduct. 
Your  reproaches,  addressed  to  yourself,  seem  almost  to  impugn 
your  second  mother." 

"I  feel  that,  father,  and  was  wrong,  no  doubt;  but  I  could 
not  subdue  my  shame  and  my  fear.  When  Clara  was  once 
settled  at  the  farm,  I  was  as  sad  as  I  had  before  thought  I 
should  be  happy,  when  I  reflected  on  the  pleasure  of  having  a 
companion  of  my  own  age.  She,  on  the  contrary,  was  all  joy 
and  lightness.  She  had  a  bed  in  my  apartment;  and  the  first 
evening  before  she  went  to  bed  she  kissed  me,  saying,  that  she 
loved  me  already,  and  felt  every  kind  sentiment  towards  me. 
She  made  me  to  call  her  Clara,  and  she  would  call  me  Marie. 
Then  she  said  her  prayers,  telling  me,  that  she  would  join  my 


THE  RECTOR  Y-HO  USE.  301 

name  with  hers  in  her  prayers,  if  I  would  also  unite  her  name 
with  mine.  I  did  not  dare  to  refuse;  and,  after  talking  for  some 
time,  she  went  to  sleep.  I  had  not  got  into  my  bed,  and,  ap- 
proaching her  bedside,  I  contemplated  her  angel  face  with  tears 
in  my  eyes;  and  then,  reflecting  that  she  was  sleeping  in  the 
same  chamber  with  me — with  one  who  had  been  at  the  ogress's, 
mixed  up  with  robbers  and  murderers,  I  trembled  as  if  I  had 
committed  some  crime,  and  a  thousand  nameless  fears  beset  me. 
I  thought  that  God  would  one  day  punish  me.  I  went  to  sleep, 
and  had  horrid  dreams.  I  saw  again  those  frightful  objects  I 
had  nearly  forgotten — the  Chourineur,  the  Schoolmaster,  the 
Chouette — that  horrible  one-eyed  woman  who  had  tortured  my 
earliest  infancy.  Oh,  what  a  night!  Mon  Dieu! — what  a  night! 
What  dreams!"  said  the  Goualeuse,  shuddering  at  their  very 
recollection. 

"  Poor  Marie !  "  said  the  cure  with  emotion.  "  Why  did  you 
not  earlier  tell  me  all  this?  I  should  have  found  comfort  for 
you.  But  go  on." 

"  I  slept  so  late,  that  Mademoiselle  Clara  awoke  me  by  kissing 
me.  To  overcome  what  she  called  my  coldness,  and  show  her 
regard,  she  told  me  a  secret — she  was  going  to  be  married  when 
she  was  eighteen  to  the  son  of  a  farmer  at  Goussainville,  whom 
she  loved  very  dearly,  and  the  union  had  long  been  agreed  upon 
by  the  two  families.  Then  she  added  a  few  words  of  her  past 
life,  so  simple,  calm,  and  happy!  She  had  never  quitted  her 
mother,  and  never  intended  to  do  so,  for  her  husband  was  to  take 
part  in  the  management  of  the  farm  with  M.  Dubreuil.  '  Now, 
Marie/  she  said,  '  you  know  me  as  well  as  if  you  were  my  sister. 
So  tell  me  all  about  your  early  days/  " 

"  I  thought  when  I  heard  the  words  that  I  should  have  died 
of  them;  I  blushed  and  stammered;  I  did  not  know  what 
Madame  Georges  had  said  of  me,  and  I  was  fearful  of  telling  a 
falsehood;  I  answered  vaguely,  that  I  had  been  an  orphan,  edu- 
cated by  a  very  rigid  person ;  and  that  I  had  not  been  happy  in 
my  infancy ;  and  that  my  happiness  was  dated  from  the  moment 
when  I  had  come  to  live  with  Madame  Georges:  then  Clara,  as 
much  by  interest  as  curiosity,  asked  me  where  I  had  been  edu- 
cated, in  the  city  or  the  country,  my  father's  name,  and,  above 
all,  if  I  remembered  anything  of  my  mother.  All  these  ques- 
tions embarrassed  as  much  as  they  pained  me,  for  I  was  obliged 
to  reply  with  falsehood,  and  you  have  taught  me,  father,  how 
wicked  it  is  to  lie;  but  Clara  did  not  think  that  I  was  deceiving 
her;  she  attributed  the  hesitation  of  my  answers  to  the  pain 
which  my  early  sorrows  renewed;  she  believed  me  and  pitied  me 


302  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

with  a  sincerity  that  cut  me  to  the  soul.  Oh,  father,  you  never 
can  know  what  I  suffered  in  this  conversation,  and  how  much  it 
cost  me  only  to  reply  in  language  of  falsehood  and  hypocrisy ! " 

"  Unfortunate  girl !  the  anger  of  Heaven  will  weigh  heavily 
on  those  who,  by  casting  you  into  the  vile  road  of  perdition,  have 
compelled  you  to  undergo  all  your  life  the  sad  consequences  of  a 
first  fault." 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  were  indeed  cruel,  father,"  replied  Fleur-de- 
Marie,  bitterly,  "  for  my  shame  is  ineffaceable.  As  Clara  talked 
to  me  of  the  happiness  that  awaited  her — her  marriage,  her 
peaceful  joys  of  home,  I  could  not  help  comparing  my  lot  with 
hers;  for,  in  spite  of  the  kindness  showered  upon  me,  my  fate 
must  always  be  miserable.  You  and  Madame  Georges,  in  teach- 
ing me  what  virtue  is,  have  taught  me  the  depth  of  that  abase- 
ment into  which  I  had  fallen;  nothing  can  take  from  me  the 
brand  of  having  been  the  refuse  of  all  that  is  vilest  in  the  world. 
Alas !  if  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  was  to  be  so  sad  to  me, 
why  not  have  abandoned  me  to  my  unhappy  fate  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Marie,  Marie !  " 

"Father,  I  speak  ill,  do  I  not?  Alas!  I  dare  not  confess  it; 
but  I  am  at  times  so  ungrateful  as  to  repine  at  the  benefits 
heaped  upon  me,  and  to  say  to  myself,  'If  I  had  not  been 
snatched  from  infamy,  why,  wretchedness,  misery,  blows,  would 
soon  have  ended  my  life;  and,  at  least,  I  should  have  remained 
in  ignorance  of  that  purity  which  I  must  forever  regret.' " 

"  Alas !  Marie,  that  is  indeed  fatal !  A  nature  ever  so  nobly 
endowed  by  the  Creator,  though  plunged  but  for  one  day  in  the 
foul  mire  from  which  you  have  been  extricated,  will  preserve 
forever  the  ineffaceable  stigma." 

"Yes,  yes,  my  father,"  cried  Fleur-de-Marie,  full  of  grief, 
"  I  must  despair  until  I  die ! " 

"You  must  despair  of  ever  tearing  out  this  frightful  page 
from  the  book  of  your  existence,"  said  the  priest,  in  a  sad  and 
serious  voice ;  "  but  you  must  have  faith  in  the  infinite  mercy  of 
the  Almighty.  Here,  on  earth,  my  poor  child,  there  are  for  you 
tears,  remorse,  expiation;  but,  one  day,  there — up  there,"  and 
he  raised  his  hand  to  the  sky,  now  filling  with  stars,  "there  is 
pardon  and  everlasting  happiness." 

"  Pity,  pity,  mon  Dieuf  I  am  so  young,  and  my  life  may  still 
endure  so  long,"  said  the  Goualeuse,  in  a  voice  rent  by  agony, 
and  falling  at  the  cure's  knees  almost  involuntarily. 

The  priest  was  standing  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  not  far  from 
where  his  "  modest  mansion  rose  " ;  his  black  cassock,  his  vener- 
able countenance,  shaded  by  long  white  locks,  lighted  by  the  last 


THE  RECTOR Y-HO  USE.  303 

ray  of  twilight,  stood  out  from  the  horizon,  which  was  of  a  deep 
transparency — a  perfect  clearness:  pale  gold  in  the  west,  sap- 
phire over  his  head.  The  priest  again  elevated  towards  heaven 
one  of  his  tremulous  hands,  and  gave  the  other  to  Fleur-de-Marie, 
who  bedewed  it  with  her  tears.  The  hood  of  her  gray  cloak  fell 
at  this  moment  from  her  shoulders,  displaying  the  perfect  outline 
of  her  lovely  profile — her  charming  features  full  of  suffering, 
and  suffused  with  tears. 

This  simple  and  sublime  scene  offered  a  strange  contrast — a 
singular  coincidence  with  the  horrid  one  which,  almost  at  the 
same  moment,  was  passing  in  the  ravine  between  the  School- 
master and  the  Chouefte.  Concealed  in  the  darkness  of  the 
somber  cleft,  assailed  by  base  fears,  a  fearful  murderer,  carrying 
on  his  person  the  punishment  of  his  crimes,  was  also  on  his 
knees,  but  in  presence  of  an  accessory,  a  sneering,  revengeful 
Fury,  who  tormented  him  mercilessly,  and  urged  him  on  to 
fresh  crimes — that  accomplice,  the  first  cause  of  Fleur-de-Marie's 
misery. 

Of  Fleur-de-Marie,  whose  days  and  nights  were  embittered  by 
never-dying  remorse;  whose  anguish,  hardly  endurable,  was  not 
conceivable;  surrounded  from  her  earliest  days  by  degraded, 
cruel,  infamous  outcasts  of  society ;  leaving  the  walls  of  a  prison 
for  the  den  of  the  ogress — even  a  more  horrid  prison;  never 
leaving  the  precincts  of  her  jail,  or  the  squalid  streets  of  the 
Cite;  this  unhappy  young  creature  had  hitherto  lived  in  utter 
ignorance  of  the  beautiful  and  the  good,  as  strange  to  noble  and 
religious  sentiments  as  to  the  magnificent  splendor  of  nature. 
Then  all  that  was  admirable  in  the  creature  and  in  the  Creator 
was  revealed  in  a  moment  to  her  astonished  soul.  At  this  strik- 
ing spectacle  her  mind  expanded,  her  intelligence  unfolded  itself, 
her  noble  instincts  were  awakened;  and  because  her  mind  ex- 
panded, because  her  intelligence  was  unfolded,  because  her  noble 
instincts  were  awakened,  yet  the  very  consciousness  of  her  early 
degradation  brings  with  it  the  feeling  of  horror  for  her  past  life, 
alike  torturing  and  enduring — she  feels  as  she  had  described, 
that,  alas !  there  are  stains  which  nothing  can  remove. 

"  Ah,  unhappiness  for  me !  "  said  the  Goualeuse,  in  despair : 
"my  whole  life  has  long  to  run,  it  may  be;  were  it  as  long,  as 
pure  as  your  own,  father,  it  must  henceforth  be  blighted  by  the 
knowledge  and  consciousness  of  the  past:  unhappiness  for  me 
forever ! " 

"  On  the  contrary,  Marie,  it  is  happiness  for  you — yes,  happi- 
ness for  you.  Your  remorse,  so  full  of  bitterness,  but  so  purify- 
ing, testifies  the  religious  susceptibility  of  your  mind.  How 


304  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

many  there  are  who,  less  nobly  sensitive  than  you,  would,  in  your 
place,  have  soon  forgotten  the  fact,  and  only  revelled  in  the 
delight  of  the  present.  Believe  me,  every  pang  that  you  now 
endure  will  tell  in  your  favor  when  on  high.  God  has  left  you 
for  a  moment  in  an  unrighteous  path,  to  reserve  for  you  the  glory 
of  repentance  and  the  everlasting  reward  reserved  for  expiation. 
Has  he  not  said  himself,  '  Those  who  fight  the  good  fight  and 
come  to  me  with  a  smile  on  their  lips,  they  are  my  chosen ;  but 
they  who,  wounded  in  the  struggle,  come  to  me  fainting  and 
dying,  they  are  the  chosen  amongst  my  chosen?'  Courage, 
then,  my  child !  support,  help,  counsel, — nothing  will  fail  you. 
I  am  very  aged,  but  Madame  Georges  and  M.  Kodolph  have  still 
many  years  before  them ;  particularly  M.  Eodolph,  who  has  taken 
so  deep  an  interest  in  you,  who  watches  your  progress  with  so 
much  anxiety." 

The  Goualeuse  was  about  to  reply,  when  she  was  interrupted 
by  the  peasant  girl  whom  we  have  already  mentioned,  who,  hav- 
ing followed  in  the  steps  of  the  cure  and  Marie,  now  came  up  to 
them.  She  was  one  of  the  peasants  of  the  farm. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  she  said  to  the  priest, 
"  but  Madame  Georges  told  me  to  bring  this  basket  of  fruit  to 
the  rectory,  and  then  I  could  accompany  Mademoiselle  Marie 
back  again,  for  it  is  getting  late.  So  I  have  brought  Turk  with 
me,"  added  the  dairy-maid,  patting  an  enormous  dog  of  the 
Pyrenees,  which  would  have  mastered  a  bear  in  a  struggle. 
"  Although  we  never  have  any  bad  people  about  us  here  in  the 
country,  it  is  as  well  to  be  careful." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Claudine.  Here  we  are  now  at  the 
rectory.  Pray  thank  Madame  Georges  for  me." 

Then  addressing  the  Goualeuse  in  a  low  tone,  the  cure  said 
to  her,  in  a  grave  voice, — 

"I  must  go  to-morrow  to  the  conference  of  the  diocese;  but 
I  shall  return  at  five  o'clock.  If  you  like,  my  child,  I  will  wait 
for  you  at  the  rectory.  I  see  your  state  of  mind,  and  that  you 
require  a  lengthened  conversation  with  me." 

"  I  thank  you,  father,"  replied  Fleur-de-Marie.  "  To-morrow 
I  will  come,  since  you  are  so  good  as  to  allow  me  to  do  so." 

"Here  we  are  at  the  garden-gate,"  said  the  priest.  "Leave 
your  basket  there,  Claudine;  my  housekeeper  will  take  it.  Ee- 
turn  quickly  to  the  farm  with  Marie,  for  it  is  almost  night,  and 
the  cold  is  increasing.  To-morrow,  Marie,  at  five  o'clock." 

"  To-morrow,  father." 

The  abbe  went  into  his  garden.  The  Goualeuse  and  Claudine, 
followed  by  Turk,  took  the  road  to  the  farm. 


THE  RENCOUNTER.  305 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  RENCOUNTER. 

THE  night  set  in  clear  and  cold.  Following  the  advice  of  the 
Schoolmaster,  the  Chouette  had  gone  to  that  part  of  the  hollow 
way  which  was  the  most  remote  from  the  path,  and  nearest  to 
the  cross-road  where  Barbillon  was  waiting  with  the  hackney- 
coach.  Tortillard,  who  was  posted  as  an  advanced  guard, 
watched  for  the  return  of  Fleur-de-Marie,  whom  he  was  desirous 
of  drawing  into  the  trap  by  begging  her  to  come  to  the  assistance 
of  a  poor  old  woman.  The  son  of  Bras  Rouge  had  advanced  a 
few  steps  out  of  the  ravine  to  try  and  discern  Marie,  when  he 
heard  the  Goualeuse  some  way  off  speaking  to  the  peasant  girl 
who  accompanied  her.  The  plan  had  failed;  and  Tortillard 
quickly  went  down  into  the  ravine  to  run  and  inform  the 
Chouette. 

"  There  is  somebody  with  the  young  girl,"  said  he,  in  a  low 
and  breathless  tone. 

"  May  the  hangman  squeeze  her  weasand,  the  little  beggar ! " 
exclaimed  the  Chouette  in  a  rage. 

"  Who's  with  her  ?  "  asked  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  Oh,  no  doubt,  the  country  wench  who  passed  along  the  road 
just  now,  followed  by  a  large  dog.  I  heard  a  woman's  voice," 
said  Tortillard.  "Hark! — do  you  hear?  There's  the  noise  of 
their  sabots ! "  and,  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  the  wooden 
soles  sounded  clearly  on  the  ground  hardened  by  the  frost. 

"  There  are  two  of  'em.  I  can  manage  the  young  'un  in  the 
gray  mantle;  but  what  can  we  do  with  t'other?  Fourline  can't 
see,  and  Tortillard  is  too  weak  to  do  for  the  companion — devil 
choke  her !  What  can  be  done  ?  "  asked  the  Chouette. 

"  I'm  not  strong ;  but,  if  you  like,  I'll  cling  to  the  legs  of  the 
countrywoman  with  the  dog.  I'll  hold  on  by  hands  and  teeth, 
and  not  let  her  go,  I  can  tell  you.  You  can  take  away  the  little 
one  in  the  meantime,  you  know,  Chouette." 

"  If  they  cry  or  resist,  they  will  hear  them  at  the  farm,"  re- 
plied the  Chouette,  "  and  come  to  their  assistance  before  we  can 
reach  Barbillon's  coach.  It  is  no  easy  thing  to  carry  off  a 
woman  who  resists." 

"  And  they  have  a  large  dog  with  them,"  said  Tortillard. 

"  Bah !  bah !  If  it  was  only  that,  I  could  break  the  brute's 
skull  with  a  blow  of  my  shoe-heel,"  said  the  Chouette. 

"Here  they  are,"  replied  Tortillard,  who  was  listening  still 


306  TBtt  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

to  the  echo  of  their  footsteps.  "They  are  coming  down  the 
hollow  now." 

"  Why  don't  you  speak,  fourline  ?  "  said  the  Chouette  to  the 
Schoolmaster.  "  What  is  best  to  be  done,  long-headed  as  you 
are,  eh  ?  Are  you  grown  dumb  ?  " 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  done  to-day,"  replied  the  miscreant. 

"And  the  thousand  lob  of  the  man  in  mourning,"  said  the 

Chouette;  "they  are  gone,  then?  I'd  sooner Your  knife — 

your  knife,  fourline!  I  will  stick  the  companion,  that  she  may 
be  no  trouble  to  us ;  and,  as  to  the  young  miss,  Tortillard  and  I 
can  make  off  with  her." 

"But  the  man  in  mourning  does  not  desire  that  we  should 
kill  any  one !  " 

"  Well,  then,  we  must  put  the  cold  meat  down  as  an  extra  in 
his  bill.  He  must  pay,  for  he  will  be  an  accomplice  with  us." 

"  Here  they  come — down  the  hill,"  said  Tortillard,  softly. 

"  Your  knife,  lad ! "  said  the  Chouette,  in  a  similar  tone. 

"  Ah,  Chouette,"  cried  Tortillard,  in  alarm,  and  extending 
his  hands  to  the  hag,  "  that  is  too  bad— to  kill.  No !— oh,  no !  " 

"  Your  knife,  I  tell  you !  "  repeated  the  Chouette,  in  an  under- 
tone, without  paying  the  least  attention  to  Tortillard's  supplica- 
tion, and  putting  her  shoes  off  hastily.  "  I  have  taken  off  my 
shoes,"  she  added,  "that  I  may  steal  on  them  quietly  from 
behind.  It  is  almost  dark";  but  I  can  easily  make  out  the  little 
one  by  her  cloak,  and  I  will  do  for  the  other." 

"  No !  "  said  the  felon ;  "  to-day  it  is  useless.  There  will  be 
plenty  of  time  to-morrow." 

"  What !  you're  afraid,  old  patterer,  are  you  ?  "  said  the  Chou- 
ette, with  fierce  contempt. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  the  Schoolmaster.  "  But  you  may  fail 
in  your  blow,  and  spoil  all."  * 

The  dog  which  accompanied  the  country-woman,  scenting  the 
persons  hidden  in  the  hollow  road,  stopped  short,  and  barked 
furiously,  refusing  to  come  to  Fleur-de-Marie,  who  called  him 
frequently. 

"  Do  you  hear  their  dog?  Here  they  are!  Your  knife! — or, 
if  not "  cried  the  Chouette,  with  a  threatening  air.* 

"  Come  and  take  it  from  me,  then — by  force ! "  said  the 
Schoolmaster. 

"  It's  all  over — it's  too  late,"  added  the  Chouette,  after  listen- 
ing for  a  moment  attentively;  "they  have  gone  by.  You  shall 
pay  for  that,  gallows-bird ! "  added  she,  furiously,  shaking  her 
fist  at  her  accomplice.  "  A  thousand  francs  lost  by  your 
stupidity  \" 


THE  RENCOUNTER.  30? 

"  A  thousand — two  thousand — perhaps  three  thousand, 
gained ! "  replied  the  Schoolmaster,  in  a  tone  of  authority. 
"  Listen,  Chouette.  Do  you  go  back  to  Barbillon,  and  let  him 
drive  you  to  the  place  where  you  were  to  meet  the  man  in  mourn- 
ing. Tell  him  that  it  was  impossible  to  do  anything  to-day,  but 
that  to-morrow  she  shall  be  carried  off.  The  young  girl  goes 
every  evening  to  walk  home  with  the  priest,  and  it  was  only  a 
chance  which  to-day  led  her  to  meet  with  anyone.  To-morrow 
we  shall  have  a  more  secure  opportunity.  So  to-morrow  do  you 
return  and  be  with  Barbillon  at  the  cross-road  in  his  coach  at 
the  same  hour." 

"  But  thou— thou  ?  " 

"  Tortillard  shall  lead  me  to  the  farm  where  the  young  girl 
lives.  I  will  cook  up  some  tale — say  we  have  lost  our  road,  and 
ask  leave  to  pass  the  night  at  the  farm  in  a  corner  of  the  stable. 
No  one  could  refuse  us  that.  Tortillard  will  examine  all  the 
doors,  windows,  and  ins-and-outs  of  the  house.  There  is  always 
money  to  be  looked  for  amongst  these  farming  people.  You  say 
the  farm  is  situated  in  a  lone  spot;  and,  when  once  we  know  all 
the  ways  and  outlets,  we  need  only  return  with  some  safe  friends, 
and  the  thing  is  done  as  easy " 

"  Always  downy !  What  a  head-piece ! "  said  the  Chouette, 
softening.  "  Go  on,  fourline!  " 

"To-morrow  morning,  instead  of  leaving  the  farm,  I  will 
complain  of  a  pain  which  prevents  me  from  walking.  If  they 
will  not  believe  me,  I'll  show  them  the  wound  which  I  have 
always  had  since  I  smashed  the  loop  of  my  darbies,  and  which  is 
always  painful  tfc  me.  I'll  say  it  is  a  burn  I  had  from  a  red-hot 
bar  when  I  was  a  workman,  and  they'll  believe  me.  I'll  remain 
at  the  farm  part  of  the  day,  whilst  Tortillard  looks  about  him. 
When  the  evening  comes  on,  and  the  little  wench  goes  out  as 
usual  with  the  priest,  I'll  say  I'm  better,  and  fit  to  go  away. 
Tortillard  and  I  will  follow  the  young  wench  at  a  distance,  and 
await  your  coming  to  us  here.  As  she  will  know  us  already,  she 
will  have  no  mistrust  when  she  sees  us.  We  will  speak  to  her, 
Tortillard  and  I;  and,  when  once  within  reach  of  my  arms,  I 
will  answer  for  the  rest.  She's  caught  safe  enough,  and  the 
thousand  francs  are  ours.  That  is  not  all.  In  two  or  three  days 
we  can  give  the  office  of  the  farm  to  Barbillon  and  some  others, 
and  share  with  them  if  they  get  any  swag,  as  it  will  be  me  who 
put  them  on  the  lay." 

"  Well  done,  No-Eyes !  No  one  can  come  up  to  you,"  said  the 
Chouette,  embracing  the  Schoolmaster.  "  Your  plan  is  capital ! 
Tell  you  what,  fourline,  when  you  are  done  up  and  old,  you  must 


308  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

turn  consulting-pn'<7;  you  will  earn  as  much  money  as  a  big-wig. 
Come,  kiss  your  old  woman,  and  be  off  as  quick  as  you  may,  for 
these  joskins  go  to  sleep  with  their  poultry.  I  shall  go  to  Bar- 
billon;  and  to-morrow,  at  four  o'clock,  we  will  be  at  the  cross- 
road with  the  '  trap,'  unless  he  is  nabbed  for  having  assisted 
Gros-Boiteux  and  the  Skeleton  to  do  for  the  milk-woman's  hus- 
band in  the  Rue  de  la  Vieille-Draperie.  But  if  he  can't  come, 
another  can,  for  the  pretended  hackney-coach  belongs  to  the  man 
in  mourning  who  has  used  it  before.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  after 
we  get  to  the  cross-road,  I  will  be  here  and  wait  for  you." 

"  All  right !    Good-by  till  to-morrow,  Chouette."  " 

"  I  had  nearly  forgot  to  give  the  wax  to  Tortillard,  if  there  is 
any  lock  to  get  the  print  of  at  the  farm.  Here,  chickabiddy,  do 
you  know  how  to  use  it  ?  "  said  the  one-eyed  wretch  to  Tortillard, 
as  she  gave  him  a  piece  of  wax. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  father  showed  me  how  to  use  it.  I  took  for  him. 
the  print  of  the  lock  of  a  little  iron  chest  which  my  master  the 
quack-doctor  keeps  in  his  small  closet." 

"  Ah,  that's  all  right ;  and,  that  the  wax  may  not  stick,  do  not 
forget  to  moisten  the  wax  after  you  have  warmed  it  well  in  your 
hand." 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  replied  Tortillard. 

"  To-morrow,  then,  foitrline"  said  the  Chouette. 

"  To-morrow,"  replied  the  Schoolmaster. 

The  Chouette  went  towards  the  coach.  The  Schoolmaster  and 
Tortillard  quitted  the  hollow  way,  and  bent  their  steps  towards 
the  farm,  the  lights  which  shone  from  the  windows  serving  to 
guide  them  on  their  way. 

Strange  fatality,  which  again  brought  Anselm  Duresnel  under 
the  same  roof  with  his  wife,  who  had  not  seen  him  since  his 
condemnation  to  hard  labor  for  life ! 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM. 

PERHAPS  a  more  gratifying  sight  does  not  exist  than  the  in- 
terior of  a  large  farm-kitchen  prepared  for  the  evening  meal, 
especially  during  the  winter  season.  Its  bright  wood  fire,  the 
long  table  'covered  with  the  savory,  smoking  dishes,  the  huge 
tankards  of  foaming  beer  or  cider,  with  the  happy  countenances 
scattered  round,  speak  of  peaceful  labor  and  healthful  industry. 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FAEM.  309 

The  farm-kitchen  of  Bouqueval  was  a  fine  exemplification  of 
this  remark.  Its  immense  open  chimney,  about  six  feet  high  and 
eight  feet  wide,  resembled  the  yawning  mouth  of  some  huge 
oven.  On  the  hearth  blazed  and  sparkled  enormous  logs  of 
beech  or  oak;  and  from  this  prodigious  brazier  there  issued  forth 
such  a  body  of  light,  as  well  as  heat,  that  the  large  lamp 
suspended  from  the  center  beam  sunk  into  insignificance,  and 
was  rendered  nearly  useless.  Every  variety  of  culinary  utensils, 
sparkling  in  all  the  brightness  of  the  most  elaborate  cleanliness, 
and  composed  invariably  of  copper,  brass,  and  tin,  glowed  in  the 
bright  radiance  of  the  winter  fire,  as  they  stood  ranged  with  the 
utmost  nicety  and  effect  on  their  appropriate  shelves.  An  old- 
fashioned  cistern  of  elaborately  polished  copper  showed  its  bright 
face,  polished  as  a  mirror;  and  close  beside  stood  a  highly 
polished  bread-trough  and  cover,  composed  of  walnut-tree  wood, 
rubbed  by  the  hand  of  housewifery  till  you  could  see  your  face  in 
it,  and  from  which  issued  a  most  tempting  smell  of  hot  bread.  A 
long  and  substantial  table  occupied  the  center  of  the  kitchen ;  a 
tablecloth,  which,  though  coarse  in  texture,  vied  with  the  falling 
snow  for  whiteness,  covered  its  entire  length;  while  for  each 
expected  guest  was  placed  an  earthenware  plate,  brown  without, 
but  white  within,  and  by  its  side  a  knife,  fork,  and  spoon,  lus- 
trous as  silver  itself.  In  the  midst  of  the  table,  an  immense 
tureen  of  vegetable  soup  smoked  like  the  crater  of  a  volcano, 
and  diffused  its  savory  vapors  over  a  dish  of  ham  and  greens, 
flanked  by  a  most  formidable  array  of  mutton,  most  relishly 
stewed  with  onions  and  potatoes.  Below  was  placed  a  large  joint 
^>f  roast  veal,  followed  by  two  great  plates  of  winter  salad,  sup- 
ported by  a  couple  of  baskets  of  apples ;  and  a  similar  number  of 
cheeses  completed  the  arrangements  of  the  table.  Three  or  four 
stone  pitchers  filled  with  sparkling  cider,  and  a  like  quantity  of 
loaves  of  brown  bread,  equal  in  size  to  the  stones  of  a  windmill, 
were  placed  at  the  discretionary  use  of  the  supping  party. 

An  old,  shaggy,  black  shepherd  dog,  almost  toothless,  the 
superannuated  patriarch  of  all  the  canine  tribe  employed  on  the 
farm,  was,  by  reason  of  his  great  age  and  long  services,  indulged 
with  permission  to  enjoy  the  cheering  warmth  of  the  chimney- 
corner;  but,  using  his  privilege  with  the  utmost  modesty  and 
discretion,  this  venerable  servitor,  who  answered  to  the  pastoral 
name  of  Lysander,  lay  quietly  stretched  out  in  a  secure  side- 
nook,  his  nose  resting  on  his  paws,  watching  with  the  deepest 
attention  the  various  culinary  preparations  which  preceded  the 
supper. 

The  bill  of  fare  thus  presented  to  the  reader,  as  the  ordinary 


310  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

mode  of  living  at  the  farm  of  Bouqueval,  may  strike  some  of  our 
readers  as  unnecessarily  sumptuous ;  but  Madame  Georges,  faith- 
fully following  out  the  wishes  of  Kodolph,  endeavored  by  all 
possible  means  to  improve  the  comforts  of  the  laborers  on  the 
farm,  who  were  always  selected  as  being  the  most  worthy  and 
industrious  individuals  of  their  district.  They  were  well  paid, 
liberally  treated,  and  so  kindly  used,  that  to  be  engaged  on  the 
Bouqueval  farm  was  the  highest  ambition  of  all  the  best  laborers 
in  that  part  of  the  country — an  ambition  which  most  essentially 
promoted  the  welfare  and  advantage  of  the  masters  they  then 
served;  for  no  applicant  for  employment  at  Bouqueval  could 
obtain  a  favorable  hearing,  unless  he  came  provided  with  most 
satisfactory  testimonials  from  his  last  employer. 

Thus,  though  on  a  very  small  scale,  had  Kodolph  created  a 
species  of  model  farm,  which  had  for  its  aim  not  only  the  im- 
provement of  animals  and  agricultural  operations,  but,  above  all, 
improving  the  nature  of  man  himself;  and  this  he  effected  by 
making  it  worth  their  while  to  be  active,  honest,  and  intelli- 
gent. 

After  having  completed  all  the  preparations  for  supper,  and 
placed  on  the  table  a  jug  of  wine  to  accompany  the  dessert,  the 
farm-cook  sounded  the  welcome  tocsin,  which  told  all  that  the 
cheering  meal  was  prepared,  and,  their  evening  toil  concluded, 
they  might  freely  enjoy  the  delights  of  wholesome  and  temperate 
refreshment.  Ere  the  sound  had  ceased  to  vibrate  on  the  ear,  a 
merry,  joyous  throng,  composed  of  men  and  maidens  to  the  num- 
ber of  twelve  or  fifteen,  crowded  round  the  table;  the  men  had 
open,  manly  countenances,  the  women  looked  healthy  and  good- 
humored,  while  the  young  girls  belonging  to  the  party  wore  the 
brightest  glow  of  youth  and  innocence.  Every  face  was  lighted 
up  with  frank  gaiety,  content,  and  the  satisfaction  arising  from 
the  consciousness  of  having  well  fulfilled  one's  duty.  Thus 
happily  prepared  in  mind  and  body  to  do  justice  to  the  excellent 
fare  set  before  them,  the  happy  party  took  their  appointed  places 
at  table. 

The  upper  end  was  occupied  by  an  old  white-haired  laborer, 
whose  fine,  bold,  yet  sensible  expression  of  face,  bespoke  him  a 
descendant  of  the  ancient  Gaulish  mothers  of  the  soil. 

Father  Chatelain  (for  so  was  this  Nestor  called)  had  worked 
on  the  farm  from  his  early  childhood.  When  Kodolph  purchased 
the  farm,  the  old  servant  had  been  strongly  recommended  to  him, 
and  he  was  forthwith  raised  to  the  rank  of  overlooker,  and,  under 
the  orders  of  Madame  Georges,  general  superintendent  of  all 
outdoor  work;  and  unbounded,  indeed,  was  the  influence  pos- 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  311 

sessed  by  Father  Chatelain  by  virtue  of  his  age,  his  knowledge, 
and  experience. 

Everyone  having  taken  their  seat,  Father  Chatelain,  having 
fervently  invoked  a  blessing,  then,  in  pursuance  of  an  ancient 
and  pious  custom,  marked  one  of  the  loaves  with  a  figure  of  a 
cross,  and  cut  off  a  large  slice  as  the  share  of  the  Virgin  or  the 
poor,  then,  pouring  out  a  glass  of  wine  with  a  similar  consecra- 
tion to  charitable  purposes,  he  reverently  placed  both  bread  and 
wine  on  a  plate  placed  in  the  center  of  the  table  purposely  to  re- 
ceive them.  At  this  moment  the  yard  dogs  barked  furiously; 
old  Lysander  replied  by  a  low  growl,  and,  curling  back  his  upper 
lip,  displayed  two  or  three  still  formidable  fangs. 

"  Some  person  is  passing  near  the  wall  of  the  courtyard/'  ob- 
served Father  Chatelain. 

Scarcely  had  the  words  been  uttered,  than  the  bell  of  the 
great  gate  sounded. 

"  Who  can  this  possibly  be  at  so  late  an  hour  ?  "  said  the  old 
laborer ;  "  everyone  belonging  to  the  place  is  in.  Go  and  see 
who  it  is,  Jean  Kene." 

The  individual  thus  addressed  was  a  stout,  able-bodied  young 
laborer  on  the  farm,  who  was  then  busily  employed  blowing  his 
scalding  hot  soup,  with  a  force  of  lungs  that  ^Eolus  himself 
might  have  envied;  but,  used  to  prompt  obedience,  in  a  moment 
the  half-raised  spoon  was  deposited  in  its  place,  and,  half  stifling 
a  sigh  of  regret,  he  departed  on  his  errand. 

"  This  is  the  first  time  our  good  Madame  Georges  and  Made- 
moiselle Marie  have  failed  paying  a  visit  to  the  warm  chimney- 
corner,  and  looking  on  whilst  we  took  our  supper,  for  this  long 
time,"  said  Father  Chatelain.  "  I  am  hungry  as  a  hunter,  but  I 
shall  not  relish  my  supper  half  so  well." 

"  Madame  Georges  is  in  the  chamber  of  Mademoiselle  Marie, 
who  found  herself  somewhat  indisposed  on  her  return  from  es- 
corting M.  le  Cure  to  the  rectory,"  replied  Claudine,  the  girl 
who  had  conducted  La  Goualeuse  back  from  the  rectory,  and 
thus  unconsciously  frustrated  the  evil  designs  of  the  Chouette. 

"  I  trust  Mademoiselle  Marie  is  only  indisposed,  not  seriously 
ill,  is  she,  Claudine?"  inquired  the  old  man,  with  almost  pa- 
ternal anxiety. 

"  Oh,  dear  no,  Father  Chatelain !  God  forbid !  I  hope  and 
believe  our  dear  mademoiselle  is  only  just  a  little  struck  with 
the  cold  of  the  night,  and  her  walk  perhaps  fatigued  her.  I 
trust  she  will  be  quite  well  by  to-morrow;  indeed  Madame 
Georges  told  me  as  much,  and  said  that,  if  she  had  had  any 
fears,  she  should  have  sent  to  Paris  for  M.  David,  the  Negro 


312  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

doctor,  who  took  such  care  of  mademoiselle  when  she  was  so 
ill.  Well,  I  cannot  make  out  how  anyone  can  endure  a  black 
doctor !  for  my  part  I  should  not  have  the  slightest  confidence  in 
anything  he  said  or  did.  No,  no !  if  one  must  have  a  doctor,  let 
it  be  a  Christian  man  with  a  white  skin;  but  a  downright  black- 
amoor !  oh,  saints  above !  why,  the  very  sight  of  him  by  my  bed- 
side would  kill  me !  " 

"  But  did  not  this  Monsieur  David  cure  Mademoiselle  Marie 
from  the  long  illness  with  which  she  suffered  when  she  first 
came  here?"  inquired  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,  Father  Chatelain,  he  certainly  did." 

"Well?" 

"Ah!  but  for  all  that,  Father 'Chatelain,  a  doctor  with'  a 
black  face  is  enough  to  terrify  anyone — I  should  scream  myself 
into  fits  if  he  were  to  come  rolling  up  the  great  whites  of  his 
eyes  at  me." 

"  But  is  not  this  M.  David  the  same  person  who  cured  Dame 
Anica  of  that  dreadful  wound  in  her  leg,  which  had  confined 
her  to  her  bed  for  upwards  of  three  years  ?  " 

"Yes,  exactly  so,  Father  Chatelain;  he  certainly  did  set  old 
Dame  Anica  up  again." 

"Well,  then,  my  child?" 

"  Nay,  but  only  think ! — a  black  man !  and  when  one  is  ill, 
too !  when  one  can  so  ill  bear  up  against  such  horrid  things.  If 
he  were  only  a  LITTLE  dark,  or  even  deep  BROWN,  but  quite, 
QUITE  a  black — all  black — oh,  Father  Chatelain,  I  really  cannot 
bring  myself  to  think  of  it !  " 

"Tell  me,  my  child,  what  color  is  your  favorite  heifer 
Musette  ?  " 

"  Oh,  white — white  as  a  swan,  Father  Chatelain ;  and  such  a 
milker!  I  can  say  that  for  the  poor  thing  without  the  least 
falsehood,  a  better  cow  we  have  not  got  on  the  farm." 

"And  your  other  favorite,  Eosette?" 

"Rosette!  oh,  she  is  as  black  as  a  raven,  not  one  white  hair 
about  her  I  should  say;  and,  indeed,  to  do  her  justice,  she  is 
a  first-rate  milker  also.  I  hardly  know  which  is  the  best,  she 
.or  my  pretty  Musette." 

"  And  what  colored  milk  does  she  give  ?  " 

"Why,  white,  of  course,  Father  Chatelain;  I  really  thought 
you  knew  that." 

"  Is  her  milk  as  white  and  as  good  as  the  milk  of  your  snowy 
pet  Musette?" 

"  Every  bit  as  good  in  color  and  quality." 

"  Although  Eosette  is  a  black  cow  ?  " 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  313 

"To  be  sure!  why,  Father  Chatelain,  what  difference  can  it 
possibly  make  to  the  milk  whether  the  cow  that  gives  it  is  black, 
white,  red,  or  brown  ?  " 

"  How,  then,  my  good  girl,  can  it  in  any  way  signify  whether 
a  doctor  has  a  black  or  white  skin,  or  what  his  complexion  may 
be?" 

"  Well,"  answered  Claudine,  fairly  hunted  into  a  corner  from 
v/hich  no  argument  could  rescue  her, — "well,  as  regards  what 
makes  a  black  doctor  not  so  good  as  a  white  one,  it  is — it  is, 
because  a  black  skin  is  so  very  ugly  to  look  at,  and  a  white  one 
is  so  much  more  agreeable  to  one's  eyes:  I'm  sure  I  can't  think 
of  any  other  reason,  Father  Chatelain,  if  I  try  forever;  but  with 
cows  the  color  of  the  skin  makes  not  the  very  least  difference, 
of  that  you  may  be  assured;  but,  then,  you  know  there's  a  deal 
of  difference  between  a  cow  and  a  man." 

These  not  very  clear  physiognomical  reflections  of  Claudine, 
touching  the  effect  of  light  or  dark  skins  in  the  human  and 
animal  race,  were  interrupted  by  the  return  of  Jean  Rene,  blow- 
ing his  fingers  with  animation  as  he  had  before  blown  his 
soup. 

"  Oh,  how  cold !  how  cold  it  is  this  night ! "  exclaimed  he,  on 
entering ;  "  it  is  enough  to  freeze  one  to  death :  it  is  a  pretty  deal 
more  snug  and  comfortable  in-doors  than  out  this  bitter  night. 
Oh,  how  cold  it  is ! " 

"Why, 

'The  frost  that  cometh  from  North  and  East 
Biteth  the  most  and  ceaseth  the  least.' 

Don't  you  know  that,  my  lad  ? "  said  the  old  superintendent 
Chatelam.  "  But  who  was  it  that  rang  so  late  ?  " 

"  A  poor  blind  man  and  a  boy  who  leads  him  about,  Father 
Chatelain." 

"And  what  does  this  poor  blind  man  want?"  inquired 
Chatelain. 

"  The  poor  man  and  his  son  were  going  by  the  cross-road  to 
Louvres,  and  have  lost  themselves  in  the  snow;  and  as  the  cold 
is  enough  to  turn  a  man  into  an  icicle,  and  the  night  is  pitch 
dark,  the  poor  blind  father  has  come  to  entreat  permission  for 
himself  and  lad  to  pass  the  night  on  the  farm :  he  says  he  shall 
be  forever  thankful  for  leave  to  lie  on  a  little  straw  under  a 
hovel,  or  in  any  out-building." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,  I  am  quite  sure  that  Madame  Georges,  who 
never  refuses  charity  to  any  unfortunate  being,  will  willingly 
permit  them  to  do  so ;  but  we  must  first  acquaint  her  with  it : 


314  TEE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

go,  Claudine,  and  tell  her  the  whole  story."  Claudine  disap- 
peared. 

"  And  where  is  this  poor  man  waiting  ?  "  asked  Father  Chate- 
lain. 

"  In  the  little  barn  just  by." 

"  But  why  in  the  barn  ?  why  put  him  there  ?  " 

"  Bless  you,  if  I  had  left  him  in  the  yard,  the  dogs  would 
have  eaten  him  up  alive !  Why,  Father  Chatelain,  it  was  no  use 
for  me  to  call  out  '  Quiet,  Medor !  come  here,  Turk !  down,  Sul- 
tan ! '  I  never  saw  dogs  in  such  a  fury.  And,  besides,  we  don't 
use  our  dogs  on  the  farm  to  fly  at  poor  folks,  as  they  are 
trained  to  do  at  other  places." 

"  Well,  my  lads,  it  seems  that  the  '  share  for  the  poor '  has 
not  been  laid  aside  in  vain  to-night.  But  try  and  sit  a  little 
closer;  there,  that  'ill  do;  now  put  two  more  plates  and  knives 
and  forks  for  this  blind  traveler  and  his  boy,  for  I  feel  quite 
certain  what  Madame  Georges'  answer  will  be,  and  that  she  will 
desire  them  to  be  housed  here  for  the  night." 

"  It  is  really  a  thing  I  can't  make  out,"  said  Jean  Eene, 
"  about  the  dogs  being  so  very  violent,  especially  Turk,  who  went 
with  Claudine  this  evening  to  the  rectory.  Why,  when  I  stroked 
him,  to  try  and  pacify  him,  I  felt  his  coat  standing  up  on  end 
like  so  many  bristles  of  a  porcupine.  Now  what  do  you  say  to 
that,  eh,  Father  Chatelain — you  who  know  almost  everything?" 

"  Why,  my  lad,  I,  who  "know  everything,  say  just  this,  that 
the  beasts  know  far  more  than  I  do,  and  can  see  farther.  I  re- 
member, in  the  autumn,  when  the  heavy  rains  had  so  swollen  the 
little  river,  I  was  returning  with  my  team-horses  one  dark 
night — I  was  riding  upon  Cuckoo,  the  old  roan  horse,  and,  deuce 
take  me,  if  I  could  make  out  any  spot  it  would  be  safe  to  wade 
through,  for  the  night  was  as  dark  as  the  mouth  of  a  pit.  Well, 
I  threw  the  bridle  on  old  Cuckoo's  back,  and  he  soon  found  what, 
111  answer  for  it,  none  of  us  could  have  discovered.  Now  who 
taught  the  dumb  brute  to  know  the  safe  from  the  unsafe  parts 
of  the  stream,  let  me  ask  you  ?  " 

"  Ay,  Father  Chatelain,  that's  what  I  was  waiting  to  ask  YOU. 
Who  taught  the  old  roan  to  discover  danger  and  escape  from  it 
so  cleverly  ?  " 

"  The  same  Almighty  wisdom  which  instructs  the  swallow 
to  build  in  our  chimneys,  and  guides  the  marten  to  make  his 
nest  among  the  reeds  of  our  banks,  my  lad.  Well,  Claudine," 
said  the  ancient  oracle  of  the  kitchen  to  the  blooming  dairy- 
maid, who  just  then  entered,  bearing  on  her  arms  two  pairs  of 
snowy  white  sheets,  from  which  an  odoriferous  smell  of  sage  and 


AN  EVENING  AT  TUB  FARM.  315 

thyme  was  wafted  along — "  well,  I  make  no  doubt  but  Madame 
Georges  has  sent  permission  for  these  poor  creatures,  the  blind 
man  and  his  child,  to  sleep  here,  has  she  not  ?  " 

"These  sheets  are  to  prepare  beds  for  them,  in  the  little 
room  at  the  end  of  the  passage,"  said  Claudine. 

"Go  and  bid  them  come  in,  then,  Jean  Rene;  and  you, 
Claudine,  my  good  girl,  put  a  couple  of  chairs  near  the  fire — 
they  will  be  glad  of  a  good  warm  before  sitting  down  to  table. 

The  furious  barking  of  the  dogs  was  now  renewed,  mingled 
with  the  voice  of  Jean  Rene,  who  was  endeavoring  to  pacify 
them;  the  door  of  the  kitchen  was  abruptly  opened,  and  the 
Schoolmaster  and  Tortillard  entered  with  as  much  precipitation 
as  though  they  feared  a  pursuit  from  some  dangerous  foe. 

"  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  keep  off  your  dogs ! "  cried  the 
Schoolmaster,  in  the  utmost  terror;  "they  have  been  trying  to 
bite  us!" 

"  They  have  torn  a  great  bit  out  of  my  blouse,"  whined 
Tortillard,  shivering  with  cold  and  pale  with  fear. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  good  man,"  said  Jean  Rene,  shutting 
the  door  securely;  "but  I  never  before  saw  our  dogs  in  such  a 
perfect  fury — it  must  be  the  cold  makes  them  so  spiteful;  per- 
haps, being  half  dozen,  they  fancied  biting  you  would  serve  to 
warm  them — there  is  no  knowing  what  mere  animals  may  mean 
by  what  they  do." 

"  Why,  are  you  going  to  begin,  too  ?  "  exclaimed  the  old  far- 
mer, as  Lysander,  who  had  hitherto  lain  perfectly  happy  in  the 
radiance  of  the  glowing  fire,  started  up,  and,  growling  fiercely, 
was  about  to  fly  at  the  strangers.  "  This  old  dog  is  quiet  enough, 
but,  having  heard  the  other  dogs  make  such  a  furious  noise,  he 
thinks  he  must  do  the  same.  Will  you  lie  down  and  be  quiet, 
you  old  brute?  Do  you  hear,  sir?  lie  down! " 

At  these  words  from  Father  Chatelain,  accompanied  by  a 
significant  motion  of  the  foot,  Lysander,  with  a  low  deep  growl 
of  dissatisfaction,  slowly  returned  to  his  favorite  corner  by  the 
hearth,  while  the  Schoolmaster  and  Tortillard  remained  trem- 
bling by  the  kitchen-door,  as  though  fearful  of  approaching 
farther.  The  features  of  the  ruffian  were  so  hideous,  from  the 
frightful  effects  produced  by  the  cold,  that  some  of  the  servants 
in  the  kitchen  shuddered  with  alarm,  while  others  recoiled  in 
disgust :  this  impression  was  not  lost  on  Tortillard,  who  felt  re- 
assured by  the  terrors  of  the  villagers,  and  even  felt  proud  of 
the  repulsiveness  of  his  companion.  This  first  confusion  over, 
Father  Chatelain,  thinking  only  of  worthily  discharging  the 
duties  of  hospitality,  said  to  the  Schoolmaster, 


316  TUB  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Come,  my  good  friend — come  near  the  fire  and  warm  your- 
self thoroughly,  and  then  you  shall  have  some  supper  with  us; 
for  you  happened  to  come  very  fortunately,  just  as  we  were 
sitting  down  to  table.  Here,  sit  down,  just  where  I  have  placed 
your  chair.  But  what  am  I  thinking  about  ?  "  added  the  worthy 
old  laborer.  "  I  ought  to  have  spoken  to  your  son,  not  you, 
seeing  that  it  has  pleased  God  to  take  away  your  eyesight — a 
heavy  loss,  a  heavy  loss;  but  let  us  hope  all  for  your  good,  my 
friend,  though  you  may  not  now  think  so.  Here,  my  boy,  lead 
your  father  to  that  snug  place  in  the  chimney-corner." 

"  Yes,  kind  sir,"  drawled  out  Tortillard,  with  a  nasal  twang 
and  canting,  hypocritical  tone ;  "  may  God  bless  you  for  your 
charity  to  the  poor  blind !  Here,  father,  take  my  arm ;  lean  on 
my  shoulder,  father ;  take  care,  take  care,  gently ; "  and,  with 
affected  zeal  and  tenderness,  the  urchin  guided  the  steps  of  the 
brigand  till  they  reached  the  indicated  spot.  As  the  pair  ap- 
proached Lysander,  he  uttered  a  low  growling  noise;  but  as  the 
Schoolmaster  brushed  past  him,  and  the  sagacious  animal  had 
full  scent  of  his  garments,  he  broke  out  into  one  of  those  deep 
howls  with  which,  it  is  asserted  by  the  superstitious,  dogs  fre- 
quently announce  an  approaching  death. 

"  What,  in  the  devil's  name,  do  all  these  cursed  animals  mean 
by  their  confounded  noise  ?"  said  the  Schoolmaster  to  him- 
self. "  Can  they  smell  the  blood  on  my  clothes,  I  wonder  ?  for, 
I  now  recollect  I  wore  the  trousers  I  have  on  at  present  the 
night  the  cattle-dealer  was  murdered." 

"  Did  you  notice  that?  "  inquired  Jean  Rene  of  Father  Chate- 
lain.  "  Why,  I  vow  that,  as  often  as  old  Lysander  had  caught 
scent  of  the  wandering  stranger,  he  actually  set  up  a  regular 
death-howl." 

And  this  remark  was  followed  up  by  a  most  singular  confirma- 
tion of  the  fact ;  the  cries  of  Lysander  were  so  loud  and  mourn- 
ful, that  the  other  dogs  caught  the  sound  (for  the  farm-yard  was 
only  separated  from  the  kitchen  by  a  glazed  window  in  the 
latter),  and,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  canine  race,  they 
each  strove  who  should  outdo  the  other  in  repeating  and  pro- 
longing the  funereal  wail,  which  according  to  vulgar  belief,  al- 
ways foretells  death.  Though  but  little  given  to  superstitious 
dread,  the  farm-people  looked  from  one  to  another  with  a  feeling 
of  wonder  not  unmixed  with  awe.  Even  the  Schoolmaster  him- 
self, diabolically  hardened  as  he  was,  felt  a  cold  shudder  steal 
over  him  at  the  thought  that  all  these  fatal  sounds  burst  forth 
upon  the  approach  of  him — the  self-convicted  murderer!  while 
Tortillard,  too  audacious  and  hardened  to  enter  into  such  alarms, 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  317 

•with  all  the  infidelity  in  which  he  had  been  trained,  even  from 
his  mother's  arms,  looked  on  with  delighted  mockery  at  the  uni- 
versal panic,  and  was,  perhaps,  the  only  person  present  devoid 
of  an  uneasy  feeling;  but,  once  freed  from  his  apprehensions  of 
suffering  from  the  violence  of  the  animals,  he  listened  even  with 
pleasure  to  the  horrible  discord  of  their  long  drawn-out  wailings, 
and  felt  almost  tempted  to  pardon  them  the  fright  they  had 
originally  occasioned  him,  in  consideration  of  the  perfect  terror 
they  had  struck  into  the  inhabitants  of  the  farm,  and  for  the 
gratification  he  derived  from  the  convulsive  horror  of  the  School- 
master. But  after  the  momentary  stupor  had  passed  away  Jean 
Rene  again  quitted  the  kitchen,  and  the  loud  cracking  of  his 
whip  soon  put  an  end  to  the  prophetic  bowlings  of  Medor,  Turk, 
and  Sultan,  and  quickly  dispersed  them  to  their  separate  kennels, 
and  as  the  noise  ceased  the  gloomy  cloud  passed  away  from  the 
kitchen,  and  the  peasants  looked  up  with  the  same  honest  cheer- 
fulness they  had  worn  upon  the  entrance  of  the  two  travelers. 
Erelong  they  had  left  off  wondering  at  the  repulsive  ugliness 
of  the  Schoolmaster,  and  only  thought  with  pity  of  his  great 
affliction,  in  being  blind ;  they  commiserated  the  lameness  of  the 
poor  boy,  admired  the  interesting  sharpness  of  his  countenance, 
the  deep,  cute  glance  of  his  ever-moving  eye,  and,  above  all, 
loaded  him  with  praises  for  the  extreme  care  and  watchfulness 
with  which  he  attended  to  his  afflicted  parent.  The  appetite 
of  the  laborers,  which  had  been  momentarily  forgotten,  now  re- 
tTirned  with  redoubled  violence,  and  for  a  time  nothing  could  be 
heard  but  the  clattering  of  plates  and  rattling  of  knives  and 
forks.  Still,  however  busily  employed  with  their  suppers,  the 
servants  assembled  round  the  table,  both  male  and  female,  could 
not  but  remark,  with  infinite  pleasure,  the  tender  assiduity  of 
the  lad  towards  the  blind  creature  who  sat  beside  him.  Nothing 
could  exceed  the  devoted  affection  and  filial  care  with  which 
Tortillard  prepared  his  meat  for  him,  cutting  both  that  and  his 
bread  with  most  accurate  nicety,  pouring  out  his  drink,  and 
never  attempting  even  to  taste  a  morsel  himself,  till  his  father 
expressed  himself  as  having  completed  his  supper.  But,  for  all 
this  dutiful  attention,  the  young  ruffian  took  ample  and  bitter 
revenge.  Instigated  as  much  by  an  innate  spirit  of  cruelty  as  the 
desire  of  imitation  natural  to  his  age,  Tortillard  found  an  equal 
enjoyment  with  the  Chouette  in  having  something  to  torment 
(a  bete  de  souffrance)  ;  and  it  was  a  matter  of  inexpressible  ex- 
ultation to  his  wretched  mind  that  he,  a  poor,  distorted,  crip- 
pled, abject  creature,  should  have  it  in  his  power  to  tyrannize 
over  so  powerful  and  ferocious  a  creature  as  the  Schoolmaster, — 


318  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

it  was  like  torturing  a  muzzled  tiger.  He  even  refined  his  grati- 
fication, by  compelling  his  victim  to  endure  all  the  agonies  he 
inflicted,  without  wincing  or  exhibiting  the  slightest  external 
sign  of  his  suffering.  Thus  he  accompanied  each  outward  mark 
of  devoted  tenderness  towards  his  supposed  parent,  by  aiming  a 
severe  kick  against  the  Schoolmaster's  legs,  on  one  of  which 
there  was  (in  common  with  many  who  had  long  worked  in  the 
galleys)  a  deep  and  severe  wound,  the  effect  of  the  heavy  iron 
chain  worn  during  the  term  of  punishment  round  the  right  leg; 
and,  by  way  of  compelling  the  miserable  sufferer  to  exercise  a 
greater  degree  of  Stoical  courage,  the  urchin  always  seized  the 
moment  when  the  object  of  his  malice  was  either  drinking 
or  speaking. 

"  Here,  dear  father !  here  is  a  nice  peeled  nut,"  said  Tortillard, 
placing  on  the  plate  of  his  supposed  parent  a  nut  carefully  pre- 
pared. 

"  Good  boy,"  said  old  Chatelain,  smiling  kindly  at  him.  Then, 
addressing  the  bandit,  he  added,  "  However  great  may  be  your 
affliction,  my  friend,  so  good  a  son  is  almost  sufficient  to  make 
tip  even  for  the  loss  of  sight:  but  Providence  is  so  gracious, 
He  never  takes  away  one  blessing  without  sending  another." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  kind  sir !  My  lot  is  a  very  hard 
one,  and,  but  for  the  noble  conduct  of  my  excellent  child, 
I " 

A  sharp  cry  of  irrepressible  anguish  here  broke  from  the 
quivering  lips  of  the  tortured  man;  the  son  of  Bras  Rouge  had 
this  time  aimed  his  blow  so  effectually,  that  the  point  of  his 
heavy-nailed  shoe  had  reached  the  very  center  of  the  wound,  and 
produced  unendurable  agony. 

"  Father !  dear  father !  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  exclaimed  Tortil- 
lard, in  a  whimpering  voice ;  then,  suddenly  rising,  he  threw  both 
his  arms  round  the  Schoolmaster's  neck,  whose  first  impulse  of 
rage  and  pain  was  to  stifle  the  limping  varlet  in  his  Herculean 
grasp :  and  so  powerfully  did  he  compress  the  boy's  chest  against 
his  own,  that  his  impeded  respiration  vented  itself  in  a  low 
moaning  sound.  A  few  minutes,  and  Tortillard's  last  prank 
would  have  been  played;  but,  reflecting  that  the  lad  was  for 
the  present  indispensable  to  the  furtherance  of  the  schemes  he 
had  on  hand,  the  Schoolmaster,  by  a  violent  effort,  controlled  his 
desire  to  annihilate  his  tormentor,  and  contented  himself  with 
pushing  him  off  his  shoulders  back  into  his  own  chair.  The 
sympathizing  group  around  the  table  were  far  from  seeing 
through  all  this,  and  merely  considered  these  close  embraces  as 
an  interchange  of  paternal  and  filial  tenderness,  while  the  half 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  319 

suffocation  and  deadly  pallor  of  Tortillard  they  attributed  to 
emotion  caused  by  the  sudden  illness  of  his  beloved  father. 

"  What  ailed  you  just  now,  my  good  man?  "  inquired  Father 
Chatelain ;  "  only  see,  you  have  quite  frightened  your  poor  boy. 
Why,  he  looks  pale  as  death,  and  can  scarcely  breathe.  Come, 
my  little  man;  you  must  not  take  on  so — your  father  is  all 
right  again." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen  all,"  replied  the  Schoolmaster, 
controlling  himself  with  much  difficulty,  for  the  pain  he  was  still 
enduring  was  most  excruciating.  "  I  am  better  now.  I'll  tell 
you,  with  your  kind  leaves,  all  about  it.  You  see  I  am  by  trade 
a  working  locksmith,  and,  one  day  that  I  was  employed  in  beat- 
ing out  a  huge  bar  of  red  hot  iron,  it  fell  over  on  my  two  legs, 
and  burnt  them  so  dreadfully,  that  it  has  never  healed;  un- 
fortunately, just  now,  I  happened  to  strike  the  leg  that  is  worst 
against  the  table,  and  the  sudden  agony  it  occasioned  me  drew 
forth  the  sudden  cry  which  so  much  disturbed  all  this  good  com- 
pany, and  for  which  I  humbly  beg  pardon." 

"  Poor  dear  father ! "  whined  out  Tortillard,  casting  a  look 
of  fiendish  malice  at  the  shivering  Schoolmaster,  and  wholly  re- 
covered from  his  late  attack  of  excessive  emotion.  "  Poor  father ! 
you  have  indeed  got  a  bad  leg  nobody  can  cure.  Ah,  kind  gentle- 
men, I  hope  you  will  never  have  such  a  shocking  wound,  and  be 
obliged  to  hear  all  the  doctors  say  it  never  will  get  well.  No! 
never — never.  Oh,  my  dear,  dear  father !  how  I  wish  I  could  but 
suffer  the  pain  instead  of  you ! " 

At  this  tender,  moving  speech,  the  females  present  expressed 
the.  utmost  admiration  for  the  dutiful  speaker,  and  began  feel- 
ing in  their  vast  pockets  for  some  more  substantial  mark  of  their 
regard. 

"  It  is  unlucky,  my  honest  friend,"  said  old  Chatelain,  address- 
ing the  Schoolmaster,  "you  had  not  happened  to  come  to  this 
farm  about  three  weeks  ago,  instead  of  to-night." 

"  And  why  so,  if  you  please  ?  " 

"  Because  we  had  staying  for  a  few  days  in  the  house  a  cele- 
brated Paris  doctor,  who  has  an  infallible  remedy  for  all  dis- 
eases of  the  legs.  A  worthy  old  woman,  belonging  to  our 
village,  had  been  confined  to  her  bed  upwards  of  three  years 
with  some  affection  of  the  legs.  Well,  this  doctor,  being  here,  as 
I  said,  heard  of  the  case,  applied  an  unguent  to  the  wounds, 
and  now,  bless  you,  she  is  as  surefooted,  ay,  and  as  swift  too,  as 
any  of  our  young  girls;  and  the  first  holiday  she  makes  she  in- 
tends walking  to  the  house  of  her  benefactor,  in  the  Alice  des 
Veuves,  at  Paris,  to  return  her  grateful  thanks.  To  be  sure  it 


320  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

is  a  good  step  from  hence,  but  then,  as  Mother  Anica  says 

Why,  what  has  come  over  you  again,  my  friend?  is  your  leg 
still  so  painful  ?  " 

The  mention  of  the  Alice  des  Veuves  had  recalled  such  fright- 
ful recollections  to  the  Schoolmaster,  that,  involuntarily,  a  cold 
shudder  shook  his  frame,  while  a  fearful  spasm,  by  contracting 
his  ghastly  countenance,  made  it  appear  still  more  hideous. 

"  Yes/'  replied  he,  trying  to  conceal  his  emotion,  "  a  sudden 
darting  pain  seized  me,  and Pray  excuse  my  interrupt- 
ing your  kind  and  sensible  discourse,  and  be  pleased  to  pro- 
ceed." 

"  It  really  is  a  great  pity,"  resumed  the  old  laborer,  "  that 
this  excellent  doctor  should  not  be  with  us  at  present;  but  I 
tell  you  what,  he  is  as  good  as  he  is  skilful,  and  I  am  quite  sure, 
if  you  let  your  little  lad  conduct  you  to  his  house  when  you  re- 
turn to  Paris,  that  he  will  cure  you.  His  address  is  not  difficult 
to  recollect,  it  is  17  Allee  des  Veuves.  Even  should  you  forget 
the  number,  it  will  not  matter,  for  there  are  but  very  few  doctors 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  no  other  Negro  surgeon — for  only 
imagine  this  clever,  kind,  and  charitable  man  is  a  black,  but  his 
heart  is  white  and  good.  His  name  is  David — Doctor  David — 
you  will  be  able  to  remember  that  name  I  dare  say." 

The  features  of  the  Schoolmaster  were  so  seamed  and  scarred 
that  it  was  difficult  to  perceive  when  his  color  varied.  He  did, 
however,  on  the  present  occasion,  turn  ghastly  pale  as  he  first 
heard  the  exact  number  mentioned  of  Eodolph's  house,  and 
afterwards  the  description  of  the  black  doctor — of  David,  the 
Negro  surgeon,  who,  by  Eodolph's  orders,  had  inflicted  on  him 
the  fearful  punishment,  the  terrible  results  of  which  were  each 
hour  more  painfully  developed.  Father  Chatelain,  however, 
was  too  much  interested  in  his  subject  to  notice  the  deadly 
paleness  of  the  Schoolmaster,  and  proceeded  with  his  dis- 
course : — 

"  When  you  leave  us,  my  poor  fellow,  we  will  be  sure  to  write 
his  address  on  a  slip  of  paper  and  give  it  to  your  son,  for  I 
know  that,  besides  putting  you  in  a  certain  way  to  be  cured  of 
your  painful  wound,  it  will  be  gratifying  to  M.  David  to  be  able 
to  relieve  your  sufferings.  Oh,  he  is  so  good — never  so  happy  as 
when  he  has  rendered  any  person  a  service.  I  wish  he  had  not 
always  that  mournful  and  dejected  look.  I  fear  he  has  some 
heavy  care  near  his  heart ;  and  he  so  good,  so  full  of  pity  for  all 
who  suffer.  Well,  well,  Providence  will  bless  him  in  another 
world ;  but  come,  friend,  let  us  drink  to  the  health  and  happiness 
of  your  future  benefactor — here  take  this  mug." 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  321 

"  No,  thank  you !  "  returned  the  Schoolmaster,  with  a  gloomy 
air;  "  none  for  me.  I — I  am  not  thirsty,  and  I  never  drink  un- 
less I  am." 

"  Nay,  friend,  but  this  is  good  old  wine  I  have  poured  out  for 
you ;  not  cider,"  said  the  laborer.  "  Many  tradespeople  do  not 
drink  as  good.  Bless  your  heart,  this  farm  is  not  conducted  as 
other  farms  are — what  do  you  think  of  our  style  of  living,  by  the 
by?  have  you  relished  your  supper?" 

"  All  very  good,"  responded  the  Schoolmaster  mechani- 
cally, more  and  more  absorbed  in  the  painfulness  of  his 
ideas. 

"  Well,  then,  as  we  live  one  day,  so  we  do  another.  We  work 
well,  we  live  well,  we  have  a  good  conscience,  and  an  equally 
good  bed  to  rest  upon  after  the  labors  of  the  day.  Our  lives  roll 
on  in  peace  and  contentment.  There  are  seven  laborers  con- 
stantly employed  on  the  farm,  who  are  paid  almost  double  wages 
to  what  others  get;  but  then  I  can  venture  to  assert,  that  if  we 
are  paid  double,  we  do  as  much  work  among  us  as  fourteen 
ordinary  laborers  would  do.  The  mere  husbandry  servants  have 
one  hundred  and  fifty  crowns  a  year,  the  dairy-women  and 
other  females  engaged  about  the  place  sixty  crowns,  and  a  tenth 
share  of  the  produce  of  the  farm  is  divided  among  us  all.  You 
may  suppose  we  do  not  idle  away  much  time,  or  fail  to  make  hay 
while  the  sun  shines,  for  Nature  is  a  bountiful  mother,  and  ever 
returns  a  hundredfold  to  those  who  assiduously  seek  her  favor; 
the  more  we  give  her,  the  more  she  returns." 

"  Your  master  cannot  get  very  rich  if  he  treats  you  and  pays 
you  thus  liberally,"  said  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  Oh,  our  master  is  different  to  all  others,  and  has  a  mode  of 
repaying  himself  peculiarly  his  own." 

"  From  what  you  say,"  answered  the  blind  man,  hoping  by 
engaging  in  conversation  to  escape  from  the  gloominess  of  his 
own  thoughts,  "your  master  must  be  a  very  extraordinary  per- 
son." 

"  Indeed  he  is,  my  good  man,  a  most  uncommon  master  to 
meet  with.  Now  as  chance  has  brought  you  among  us,  and  a 
strange  though  a  lucky  chance  for  you  it  has  proved,  lying  out 
of  the  highroad  as  this  village  does,  it  is  so  very  seldom  any 
stranger  ever  finds  it  out.  Well,  I  was  going  to  say,  here  you 
are,  and  no  fault  to  find  with  your  quarters,  is  there?  Now,  in 
all  human  probability,  when  you  turn  your  back  upon  the  place, 
you  will  never  return  to  it,  but  you  shall  not  depart  without 
hearing  from  me  a  description  of  our  master  and  all  he  has  done 
for  the  farm,  upon  condition  that  you  promise  to  repeat  it  again 


322  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

wherever  you  go,  and  to  whomsoever  you  may  meet  with.  You 
will  see — I  mean,  I  beg  pardon,  you  will  then  be  able  to  under- 
stand." 

"  I  listen  to  you/'  answered  the  Schoolmaster ;  "  proceed." 
"  And  I  can  promise  you  you  will  not  be  throwing  away  your 
time  by  listening,"  replied  the  venerable  Chatelain.  "  Now  one 
day  our  master  thought  all  at  once :  '  Here  am  I,  rich  enough  to 
eat  two  dinners  a  day  if  I  liked,  but  I  don't.  Now  suppose  I 
were  to  provide  a  meal  for  those  who  have  none  at  all,  and 
enable  such  as  can  barely  procure  half  a  dinner  to  enjoy  as  much 
good  food  as  they  desired,  would  not  that  be  better  than  over- 
indulging myself  ?  So  it  shall  be,'  says  he,  and  away  he  goes  to 
work,  and,  first  thing,  he  buys  this  farm,  which  was  not  much 
of  a  concern  then,  and  scarcely  kept  a  couple  of  plows  at  work; 
and,  being  born  and  bred  on  the  place,  I  ought  to  know  some- 
thing about  it.  Next,  master  made  considerable  additions  to 
the  farm.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  that  by  and  by.  At  the  head 
of  the  farm  he  placed  a  most  worthy  and  respectable  female, 
who  had  known  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  her  past  life — master 
always  chose  out  people  for  their  goodness  and  their  misfortunes, 
— and,  when  he  brought  the  person  I  am  telling  you  of  here,  he 
said  to  her  in  my  hearing,  '  I  wish  this  place  to  be  like  the 
temple  of  our  great  Maker,  open  to  the  deserving  and  the  af- 
flicted, but  closed  against  the  wicked  and  hardened  reprobate.' 
So  idle  beggars  are  always  turned  from  the  gate;  but  those  who 
are  able  and  willing  to  work  have  always  the  opportunity  set 
before  them :  the  charity  of  labor,  our  master  says,  is  no  humilia- 
tion to  him  who  receives  it,  but  a  favor  and  service  conferred  on 
the  person  whose  labor  is  thus  done;  and  the  rich  man,  who  does 
not  act  upon  this  principle,  but  ill  employs  his  wealth.  So  said 
our  master.  But  he  did  more  than  talk — he  acted.  There  was 
formerly  a  road  from  here  to  Ecouen,  which  cut  off  a  good  mile 
of  distance,  but,  Lord  love  you !  it  was  one  great  rutty  bog,  im- 
possible to  get  up  or  down  it;  it  was  the  death  of  every  horse, 
and  certain  destruction  to  every  vehicle  that  attempted  to  pass 
through  it.  A  little  labor,  and  a  trifling  amount  of  money,  from 
each  farmer  in  the  adjoining  country,  would  soon  have  repaired 
the  road;  but  they  never  could  be  brought  to  any  unanimity  on 
the  subject,  and,  in  proportion  as  one  farmer  would  be  anxious 
to  contribute  towards  putting  the  road  in  order,  the  others  would 
invariably  decline  sending  either  men  or  money  to  assist.  So 
our  master,  perceiving  all  this,  said,  '  The  road  shall  be  repaired ; 
but  as  those  who  can  afford  to  contribute  will  not,  and  as  it  is 
more  for  convenience  and  accommodation  to  the  rich  than  neces- 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  323 

sity  for  the  poor,  it  shall  first  become  useful  to  those  who  would 
work  if  they  could  get  it  to  do,  who  have  heart,  and  hands,  and 
courage,  but  no  employ.  Well,  this  road  shall  be  reserved  as  a 
constant  occupation  for  persons  of  this  description.  Horsemen, 
and  carriages  belonging  to  the  rich  and  affluent,  who  care  not 
how  roads  are  repaired,  so  they  can  travel  at  their  ease,  may  go 
round  by  the  farther  side.'  So,  for  example,  whenever  a  strong, 
sturdy  fellow  presented  himself  at  the  farm,  pleading  hunger 
and  want  of  work,  I'd  say  to  him, '  Here,  my  lad ;  here  is  a  basin 
of  warm,  nourishing  soup — take  it  and  welcome:  then,  if  you 
wish  for  work,  here  is  a  pickax  and  spade,  one  of  our  people 
will  show  you  the  Ecouen  road,  make  every  day  twelve  feet  of  it 
good,  by  spreading  and  breaking  the  flints;  and  every  evening, 
after  your  work  is  examined,  you  shall  receive  at  the  rate  of 
forty  sous  for  the  quantity  named ;  twenty  sous  for  half  as  much ; 
and  ten  sous  for  a  quarter;  for  less  than  that,  nothing  at  all/ 
Then,  towards  evening,  upon  my  return  from  labor,  I  used  to  go 
on  the  road,  measure  their  work,  and  examine  whether  it  was 
well  done." 

"  And  only  to  think,"  interposed  Jean  Rene,  in  a  fit  of  vir- 
tuous indignation, — "  only  think,  now,  of  there  coming  two 
heartless  vagabonds,  who  drank  their  soup  and  walked  off  with 
the  pickax  and  shovel.  It  is  enough  to  sicken  one  of  doing 
good  or  trying  to  benefit  one's  fellow-creatures." 

"Quite  right,  Master  Eene,"  exclaimed  the  other  laborers; 
"  so  it  is." 

"  Come,  come,  lads,"  resumed  Father  Chatelain,  "  don't  be 
too  warm.  Just  see  here !  We  might  as  well  say  it  is  useless  to 
plant  trees,  or  sow  grain,  because  there  are  caterpillars,  weevils, 
and  other  injurious  insects,  that  gnaw  the  leaves  or  devour  the 
seeds  put  in  the  ground.  No,  no !  we  destroy  the  vermin.  But 
God  Almighty,  who  is  no  niggard,  causes  fresh  buds  to  burst 
forth  and  new  ears  of  corn  to  sprout ;  the  damage  is  abundantly 
repaired,  and  no  trace  remains  of  the  mischievous  insects  which 
have  passed  over  our  work.  Am,  I  not  right,  my  friend  ?  "  said 
the  old  laborer,  addressing  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  No  doubt — no  doubt,"  replied  the  latter,  who  had  appeared 
for  some  time  past  lost  in  a  train  of  serious  meditation. 

"  Then,  as  for  women  and  children,  there  is  plenty  of  occu- 
pation for  them  also,  according  to  their  age  and  strength,"  added 
Father  Chatelain. 

"  Yet,  spite  of  all  this,"  observed  Claudine,  joining  in  the 
conversation,  "  the  road  gets  on  but  very  slowly." 

"  Which  only  goes  to  prove,  my  good  girl,  that  in  this  part  of 


324  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

the  country  there  is  happily  no  scarcity  of  employment  for  the 
honest  and  industrious  laborer." 

"  But  now,  as  in  the  case  of  a  poor,  helpless,  afflicted  creature 
such  as  I  am,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  hastily,  "  would  not  the 
worthy  owner  of  the  farm  grant  me  a  humble  corner  in  it  for 
charity's  sake — a  shelter  and  a  morsel  of  bread  for  the  little 
while  I  have  to  remain  a  burden  to  anyone  in  this  troublesome 
world?  Oh,  my  worthy  sir,  could  I  but  obtain  such  a  boon,  I 
would  pass  the  remainder  of  my  days  in  praying  for  a  blessing 
on  my  benefactor." 

And  these  words  were  really  pronounced  in  entire  sincerity 
of  meaning;  not  that  compunction  for  his  many  crimes  touched 
the  brigand's  stony  heart,  but  he  contrasted  the  happy  peace- 
fulness  of  the  lives  of  these  laborers  to  his  own  wretched,  stormy 
existence;  and  still  further  did  he  envy  them  when  he  reflected 
upon  all  that  the  Chouette  might  have  in  store  for  him :  he 
shuddered  as  he  reflected  upon  the  future  she  would  provide  for 
him,  and  more  than  ever  regretted,  by  having  recalled  his 
old  accomplice,  having  forever  lost  the  means  of  dwelling  with 
good  and  honest  persons,  such  as  those  with  whom  the  Chou- 
rineur  had  placed  him.  Father  Chatelain  surveyed  the  School- 
master with  an  air  of  surprise. 

"  My  good  man,"  said  he,  "  I  did  not  know  you  were  so  utterly 
destitute." 

"  Alas !  yes,  it  is  even  so.  I  lost  my  sight  hy  an  accident  while 
working  at  my  trade.  I  am  going  to  Louvres  to  endeavor  to 
find  a  distant  relation  there,  who,  I  hope,  may  be  willing  to  assist 
me.  But,  you  are  aware,  people  are  not  always  so  open-hearted 
as  they  should  be;  they  do  not  like  distressed  objects,  such  as 
myself,  coming  to  claim  kindred,  and  are  frequently  harsh  and 
unkind,"  answered  the  Schoolmaster,  sighing  deeply. 

"  But  the  most  selfish  heart  would  grieve  at  your  distress,"  re- 
plied the  old  laborer.  "  The  most  hard-hearted  relative  would 
pity  a  man  like  you — a  good  and  honest  workman  overtaken  hy  a 
sudden  calamity,  and  left  without  hope  or  help.  Then  the  mov- 
ing spectacle  of  this  young  and  tender  child,  your  only  friend 
and  guide,  would  wring  pity  from  the  very  stones.  But  how  is 
it  that  the  master  for  whom  you  worked  previously  to  your  ac- 
cident has  done  nothing  for  you  ?  " 

"  He  is  now  dead,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  after  a  short  hesi- 
tation ;  "  and  he  was  my  only  friend  upon  earth." 

"  But  then  there  is  the  hospital  for  the  blind." 

"  I  am  not  the  right  age  to  qualify  me  for  admission." 

"  Poor  man !  yours  is,  indeed,  a  hard  case." 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  325 

"  Do  you  think  it  likely  that,  in  the  event  of  my  relation  at 
Louvres  refusing  to  assist  me,  your  master,  whom  I  already  re- 
spect without  knowing,  would  take  pity  on  me  ?  " 

"  Unfortunately,  you  see,  the  farm  is  not  a  hospital.  Our 
general  rule  is  to  grant  all  infirm  or  afflicted  travelers  a  tempo- 
rary shelter  of  a  night  or  a  day  in  the  house.  Then  some  assist- 
ance is  furnished,  and  they  are  put  on  their  road  with  a  prayer 
to  kind  Providence  to  take  them  under  its  charge." 

"  Then  you  think  there  is  no  hope  of  interesting  your  master 
in  my  unhappy  fate  ?  "  asked  the  brigand,  with  a  sigh  of  regret. 

"  I  tell  you  what  is  the  general  custom  here,  my  good  man ; 
but  so  compassionate  a  person  as  our  master  might  go  any 
lengths  to  serve  you." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  "  said  the  Schoolmaster.  "  Oh,  if  he 
would  but  permit  me  to  remain  here,  I  could  live  in  any  retired 
corner,  and  be  happy  and  grateful  for  such  a  mere  trifle  of  sub- 
sistence !  " 

"  As  I  said  before,  our  master  is  capable  of  the  most  generous 
actions.  But,  were  he  to  consent  to  your  remaining  at  the  farm, 
there  would  be  no  occasion  for  you  to  hide  yourself;  you  would 
fare  in  every  respect  as  you  have  seen  us  treated  to-day.  Some 
occupation  would  be  found  for  your  son  suitable  to  his  age  and 
strength.  He  would  not  want  for  good  instruction  or  wise  coun- 
sels; our  venerable  minister  would  teach  him  with  the  other 
children  of  the  village,  and,  in  the  words  of  Scripture,  he  would 
grow  in  goodness  and  in  stature  beneath  the  pious  care  of  our 
excellent  cure.  But  the  best  way  for  you  to  manage  this  will  be 
to  lay  every  particular  of  your  case  and  petition  before  our 
*  Lady  of  Ready  Help,'  when  she  comes  into  the  kitchen,  as  she 
is  sure  to  do  before  you  start  on  your  journey  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

"What  name  did  you  call  your  lady  by?" 

"  Nay,  I  meant  our  mistress,  who  always  goes  by  that  appella- 
tion amongst  us.  If  she  interests  herself  for  you,  your  suit  will 
be  granted ;  for,  in  matters  of  charity,  our  master  never  opposes 
her  smallest  wish." 

"  Oh,  then,"  exclaimed  the  Schoolmaster,  in  a  joyous  tone,  al- 
ready exulting  in  his  hoped-for  deliverance  from  the  power  of 
the  Chouette,  "  I  will  thankfully  follow  your  advice,  and  speak 
to  her  whenever  I  have  the  blessed  opportunity !  " 

This  hope  found  no  echo  in  the  mind  of  Tortillard,  who  felt 
not  the  slightest  disposition  to  avail  himself  of  the  offers  of  the 
old  laborer,  and  grow  up  in  goodness  under  the  auspices  of  the 
venerable  cure.  The  inclinations  of  Bras  Rouge's  son  were  any- 


326  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

thing  but  rural,  neither  did  his  turn  of  mind  incline  to  the 
pastoral.  Faithful  to  the  code  of  morality  professed  by  the 
Chouette,  and  promulgated  by  her,  he  would  have  been  severely 
distressed  to  see  the  Schoolmaster  emancipate  himself  from  their 
united  tyranny;  and  he  now  thought  it  high  time  to  recall  the 
brigand  from  the  illusory  visions  of  flowery  meads  and  all  the 
et-cceteras  of  a  country  life,  in  which  his  fancy  seemed  reveling, 
to  the  realities  of  his  present  position. 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,"  repeated  the  Schoolmaster;  "I  will  assuredly 
address  my  prayers  to  your  '  Lady  of  Eeady  Help.'  She  will 
pity  me  and  kindly " 

Tortillard  here  interrupted  him  by  a  vigorous  and  artfully 
managed  kick,  so  well  directed,  that,' as  before,  it  took  the  direst 
effect  on  the  most  sensitive  spot.  The  intense  agony  for  a 
time  quite  bereft  the  brigand  of  speech  or  breath ;  but,  remember- 
ing the  fatal  consequences  of  giving  way  to  the  feelings  which 
boiled  within  him,  he  struggled  for  self-command,  and,  after  a 
pause  of  a  few  minutes,  added,  in  a  faint  and  suffering  voice, 
"  Yes,  I  venture  to  hope  your  good  mistress  would  pity  and  be- 
friend me." 

"  Dear  father,"  said  Tortillard,  in  a  hypocritical  tone,  "  you 
forget  my  poor  dear  aunt,  Madame  la  Chouette,  who  is  so  fond 
of  you.  Poor  Aunty  Chouette ! — she  would  never  part  with 
you  so  easily,  I  know.  Directly  she  heard  of  your  staying  here, 
she  would  come  along  with  M.  Barbillon  and  fetch  you  away — 
that  she  would,  I  know." 

"  Madame  la  Chouette  and  M.  Barbillon !  Why  this  honest 
man  seems  to  have  relations  among  all  the  'birds  of  the  air 
and  fishes  of  the  sea,' "  uttered  Jean  Eene  in  a  voice  of  mirthful 
irony,  giving  his  neighbor  rather  a  vigorous  poke  with  his  elbow. 
"  Funny,  isn't  it,  Claudine  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  great  unfeeling  calf !  How  can  you  make  a  joke  of 
these  poor  creatures  ? "  replied  the  tender-hearted  dairy-maid, 
returning  Jean  Eene's  thrust  with  sufficient  interest  to  com- 
promise the  safety  of  his  ribs. 

"  Is  Madame  la  Chouette  a  relation  of  yours  ?  "  inquired  the 
old  laborer  of  the  Schoolmaster. 

"  Yes,  a  distant  one,"  answered  the  other,  with  a  dull,  dejected 
manner. 

"  And  is  she  the  person  you  were  going  to  Louvres  to  try  and 
find  ?  "  asked  Father  Chatelain. 

"  She  is,"  replied  the  blind  man ;  "  but  I  think  my  son  over- 
rates her  zeal  on  my  account.  However,  under  any  circum- 
stances, I  shall  speak  to  your  excellent  lady  to-morrow,  and  en- 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  327 

treat  her  aid  to  further  my  request  with  the  kind,  charitable 
owner  of  this  farm;  but,"  added  he,  purposely  to  divert  the 
conversation  into  another  channel,  and  so  put  an  end  to  the  im- 
prudent remarks  of  Tortillard,  "  talking  of  farms,  you  promised 
to  explain  to  me  the  difference  that  exists  in  the  management  of 
this  farm  and  farms  in  general.'* 

"I  did  so/'  replied  Father  Chatelain,  " and  I  will  keep  my 
word.  Now,  after  having  planned  all  I  told  you  about  the  charity 
of  labor,  our  master  said  to  himself,  '  There  are  many  institu- 
tions where  plans  are  devised,  and  rewards  assigned,  for  improve- 
ments in  the  breed  of  horses,  cattle,  sheep,  and  other  animals, 
for  the  best-constructed  plows,  and  other  agricultural  imple- 
ments. And  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  all  this  time  we  are 
not  going  to  the  fountain-head,  and  beginning,  as  we  ought  to 
begin,  by  improving  the  condition  of  the  laboring  classes  them- 
selves, before  we  give  all  this  heed  to  the  beast  which  perisheth. 
Good  beasts  are  capital  things,  but  good  men  are  better,  and 
more  difficult  to  meet  with.  Give  your  horses  and  cattle  plenty 
of  good  food,  clear  running  water;  place  them  either  out  of 
doors  in  a  fine  healthy  atmosphere,  or  give  them  a  clean  well- 
managed  stable,  with  good  and  regular  attendance ;  and  they  will 
thrive  to  your  heart's  content,  and  be  capable  of  reaching  any 
degree  of  excellence.  But  with  men,  look  you,  it  is  quite  another 
thing.  You  cannot  elevate  a  man's  mind  as  you  can  fatten  an 
ox.  The  animal  fattens  on  his  pasture,  because  its  taste  grat- 
ifies his  palate;  he  eats  because  he  likes  what  he  feeds  on,  and 
his  body  profits  and  thrives  in  proportion  to  the  pleasure  with 
which  he  has  devoured  his  food.  Well  then,  my  opinion  is, 
that  to  make  good  advice  really  profitable  to  men,  they  should 
be  enabled  clearly  to  perceive  their  own  personal  advantage  in 
following  it." 

"  Just  as  the  ox  is  profited  by  eating  the  fine  grass  that  grows 
around  him,  Father  Chatelain?"  said  several  voices. 

"  Precisely  the  same." 

"But,  Father  Chatelain,"  exclaimed  another  voice,  "I  have 
heard  talk  of  a  sort  of  farm  where  young  thieves,  who  might  in 
other  respects  have  conducted  themselves  very  well,  are  taken 
in,  taught  all  sorts  of  farming  knowledge,  and  fed  and  treated 
like  princes." 

"  You  have  heard  quite  right,  my  good  fellow,  there  is  such 
an  institution;  and,  as  far  as  it  goes,  it  is  founded  on  pure  and 
just  motives,  and  is  calculated  to  do  much  good.  We  should 
never  despair  for  the  wicked,  but  we  should  also  hope  all  things 
for  the  good.  Suppose  now  a  strong,  healthy,  and  industrious 


328  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

young  man,  of  excellent  character,  ready  and  willing  to  work, 
but  desirous  of  receiving  good  instruction  in  his  way  of  life, 
were  to  present  himself  at  the  place  you  were  speaking  of — this 
farm  of  reclaimed  thieves — well,  the  first  question  would  be, 
'  Well,  my  chap,  are  you  a  rogue  and  a  vagabond  ?  '  '  No ! ' 
'  Oh,  then  we  can't  receive  you  here — we've  no  room  for  honest 
lads.' " 

"  What  you  say,  father,  is  right — every  word  of  it,"  rejoined 
Jean  Rene.  "Rascals  are  provided  for,  while  honest  men  want; 
and  beasts  are  considered,  and  their  condition  continually  im- 
proved, while  men  are  passed  over  and  left  in  ignorance  and 
neglect." 

"  It  was  purposely  to  remedy  what  you  complain  of,  my  brave 
lad,  that  our  master  took  this  farm  (as  I  was  mentioning  to  our 
blind  visitor).  (I  know  very  well/  said  he,  'that  honest  men 
will  be  rewarded  on  high;  but  then,  you  see,  it  is  far  and  long 
to  look  forward  to,  and  there  are  many  (and  much  to  be  pitied 
are  they)  who  can  neither  look  to  such  a  distance,  nor  wait 
with  patience  the  indefinite  period  which  bids  them  live  on  hope 
alone.  Then  how  are  these  poor,  depressed,  and  toil-worn  creat- 
ures to  find  leisure  thus  to  seek  religious  comfort?  Rising  at 
the  first  dawn  of  day,  they  toil  and  labor  with  weary  limbs,  till 
night  releases  them  and  sends  them  to  their  wretched  hovels. 
Sunday  is  spent  by  them  at  the  public-house  drinking,  to  drive 
away  the  recollections  both  of  their  past  and  future  wretched- 
ness. Neither  can  these  poor  beings  turn  their  very  hardships 
to  a  good  account  by  extracting  a  useful  moral  from  them. 
After  a  hard  day's  work  does  their  bread  seem  less  coarse  and 
black,  their  pallet  less  hard,  their  infants  less  sickly  and  meager, 
their  wives  less  worn  down  by  giving  nourishment  to  the  feeble 
babes  of  their  breast?  No,  no! — far  from  it.  Alas,  the  thin, 
half-starved  mother  is  but  ill  calculated  to  nourish  another,  when 
she  is  obliged  to  yield  her  slender  share  of  the  family  meal  to 
still  the  clamors  of  her  famishing  children !  Yet  all  this  might 
be  endured — ay,  even  cheerfully;  for  use  has  familiarized  them 
with  hardships  and  privations:  their  bread  is  food,  though  coarse 
and  homely;  their  straw  bed  rests  their  weary  limbs;  and  their 
children,  though  stunted  and  sickly,  live  on.  All  these,  I  say, 
could  be  borne,  did  no  comparison  arise  between  their  own 
poverty  and  the  condition  of  others;  but,  when  they  visit  the 
town  or  city  on  market-days,  they  see  an  abundance  of  good 
white  loaves  crowding  the  windows  of  the  bakers'  shops,  warm 
soft  mattresses  and  blankets  are  displayed  for  sate  to  such  as 
have  the  means  of  purchasing;  children  fresh  and  blooming  as 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  329 

the  flowers  of  May  are  playing  joyously  about,  and  even  from  the 
superabundance  of  their  meals  casting  a  portion  to  the  dogs  and 
other  pet  animals.  Ah !  human  courage  gives  way  at  this  re- 
verse in  the  picture  of  human  condition;  and  when  the  tired, 
careworn  men  return  to  their  mud  hovels,  their  black  bread  and 
straw  pallet,  and  are  surrounded  by  a  number  of  squalid,  half- 
starved,  wailing  infants,  to  whom  they  would  gladly  have  brought 
the  share  of  cakes  and  buns  thrown  by  the  pampered  children 
of  great  towns  in  the  streets,  or  cast  to  the  animals, — then 
bitter  discontent  and  repining  take  possesion  of  their  mind, 
and,  utterly  forgetting  that  ON  HIGH  is  One  who  careth  for  all, 
they  say,  '  Why  is  this  difference  allowed  ?  and,  if  there  must  be 
both  rich  and  poor  in  the  world,  why  were  not  we  born  to  riches  ? 
why  should  not  every  man  have  his  turn  in  worldly  prosperity? 
We  are  not  justly  used  or  fairly  treated  in  being  always  poor 
and  hard  worked/  Of  course,  all  this  is  both  sinful  and  un- 
reasonable; neither  does  it  in  any  manner  serve  to  lighten  their 
load ;  and  yet  they  must  go  on,  bending,  staggering  under  the 
burden  too  heavy  for  them  to  bear,  till  they  sink,  utterly  ex- 
hausted and  worn-out.  They  must  toil,  toil  on,  without  hope, 
without  relaxing  their  daily  efforts,  or  without  once  daring  to 
entertain  the  idea  that,  by  a  long  continuance  in  honest,  virtu- 
ous, industrious  conduct,  the  day  might  come  when,  like  the 
great  Creator  of  all,  they  might  rest  from  their  labors,  and  be- 
hold peaceful  ease  succeeding  the  hard-griping  hand  of  poverty. 
Think  of  a  whole  life  passed  thus,  in  one  continued  struggle  for 
the  bare  means  of  life,  without  a  glimmer  of  hope  to  cheer  the 
thorny  path!  What  must  such  a  life  be  like?  Why,  it  would 
resemble  one  long  rainy  day,  without  a  single  ray  of  brightness 
from  the  blessed  sun  to  help  us  through  it.  Then  labor  is  re- 
sumed with  an  unwilling  and  dissatisfied  spirit.  *  What  does  it 
signify  to  us/  cry  the  worn-out  laborers,  '  whether  the  harvest 
yields  ill  or  well?  whether  the  ears  of  corn  be  heavy  or  light 
makes  no  difference  to  us.  Why  should  we  over-work  ourselves, 
or  trouble  our  heads  with  matters  that  only  concern  our  master? 
it  is  sufficient  for  us  to  act  with  strict  honesty.  We  will  not  com- 
mit any  crime,  because  there  are  laws  ready  to  punish  such  as 
do ;  but  neither  will  we  try  to  perform  acts  of  goodness,  because 
for  those  the  laws  provide  no  recompense/  *  Such  a  mode  of 
arguing,  my  boys,  is  as  unwise  as  it  is  wrong  and  sinful ;  but, 
depend  upon  it,  it  is  true  to  nature.  From  this  indifference 
comes  idleness,  and  from  idleness  to  crime  the  distance  is  very 
short.  Now  unfortunately,  among  the  class  I  have  been  describ- 
ing, the  far  greater  proportion  consists  of  those  whose  conduct 


330  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

may  be  considered  as  neither  good  nor  bad,  that  is  to  say,  without 
any  particular  leaning  either  way,  and,  consequently,  a  mere 
trifle  might  firmly  enlist  them  in  the  service  of  virtue  or  vice. 
These  are  the  very  individuals,'  continued  our  master,  *  we  ought 
to  try  and  improve,  just  as  we  should  have  done  had  they  been 
born  to  the  honor  of  figuring  as  animals  with  hoofs,  horns,  or 
woolly  coats.  Let  us  continue  to  point  out  to  them  how  com- 
pletely it  is  to  their  interest  to  be  active,  industrious,  steady,  and 
well  qualified  to  discharge  their  several  duties;  let  us  effectually 
convince  them  that,  by  becoming  better  men,  they  will  also  be 
much  happier;  let  them  see  how  closely  their  good  behavior  and 
prosperity  are  interwoven;  and,  that  good  advice  may  sink  the 
deeper  into  their  hearts,  give  them  -as  it  were  such  a  taste  of 
earthly  comfort  as  shall,  in  a  slight  degree,  communicate  to  them 
the  hope  and  notion  of  expecting  the  unspeakable  reward  pre- 
pared by  the  Great  Giver  of  all,  whose  dwelling  is  on  high.' 

"  Having  well  arranged  his  plans,  our  master  caused  it  to  be 
made  known  in  the  environs  that  he  wished  to  engage  twelve 
farm-servants,  six  men  and  six  females ;  but  that  his  choice  would 
be  entirely  regulated  by  the  most  satisfactory  certificates  of  good 
conduct  obtained  from  the  civil  and  religious  authorities  in  their 
native  place.  They  were  to  be  paid  like  princes,  fed  upon  the 
best  food  to  their  hearts'  content;  and  further,  a  tenth  part  of 
the  produce  of  the  harvest  was  to  be  shared  among  the  laborers. 
The  engagement  at  the  farm  was  to  last  but  two  years,  at  the 
end  of  which  time  they  were  to  give  place  to  other  laborers, 
chosen  upon  the  same  terms ;  but,  at  the  expiration  of  five  years, 
the  original  laborers  were  taken  on  again,  in  the  event  of  there 
being  any  vacancies :  so  that,  since  the  establishment  of  this  farm, 
it  is  usual  for  the  laborers  and  working  classes  in  the  neighbor- 
hood to  say,  '  Let  us  be  active,  honest,  and  industrious,  so  as  to 
obtain  a  high  character  for  such  good  qualities,  and,  perhaps, 
one  day  we  may  be  fortunate  to  get  engaged  at  Bouqueval  Farm. 
There,  for  a  couple  of  years,  we  shall  lead  a  life  of  perfect  hap- 
piness. We  shall  learn  our  business  thoroughly;  we  shall  save 
a  little  money,  so  that,  when  our  time  is  up,  everyone  will  be 
glad  to  engage  us,  because  they  know  that  we  must  have  had  first- 
rate  characters  to  have  been  admitted  on  the  establishment  at 
all.' " 

"  I  am  already  bespoke  by.M.  Dubreuil  for  his  farm  at  Arnou- 
ville,"  said  Jean  Eene. 

"  And  I  am  engaged  to  a  first-rate  service  at  Gonesse,"  chimed 
in  another  laborer. 

"  You  see,  my  good  friend,  by  this  plan  everybody  is  a  gainer, 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  331 

the  neighboring  farmers  particularly.  There  are  but  twelve 
places  for  servants  on  the  farm,  but  there  are,  perhaps,  fifty 
candidates  who  have  all  earned  their  right  to  solicit  an  engage- 
ment by  certificates  and  testimonials  of  excellent  conduct.  Well, 
though  thirty-eight  out  of  the  fifty  must  be  disappointed,  yet 
the  good  which  is  in  them  will  still  remain;  and  there  are  so 
many  good  and  deserving  characters  in  the  environs  we  can 
safely  reckon  upon :  for,  though  they  have  failed  in  this  appli- 
cation, they  still  live  in  hopes  of  succeeding  another  time.  Why, 
for  every  prize  animal  to  which  the  medal  is  assigned,  whether 
for  swiftness,  strength,  or  beauty,  there  must  be  a  hundred  or 
more  trained  to  stand  forward  and  dispute  the  choice ;  and  those 
animals  rejected  do  not  lose  in  any  of  those  qualifications  be- 
cause they  were  not  accepted:  far  from  it;  their  value  is  ac- 
knowledged, and  they  quickly  find  persons  desirous  of  possessing 
them.  Now,  friend,"  said  Father  Chatelain,  having  fairly  talked 
himself  out  of  breath,  "  do  you  not  confess  that  I  was  right  when 
I  said  ours  was  no  common  farm,  any  more  than  our  employer 
was  no  ordinary  master?" 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  Schoolmaster,  "  your  account  is  most  in- 
teresting, and  fully  bears  out  all  you  asserted.  But,  the  more  I 
hear  of  the  exalted  views  and  noble  generosity  of  your  master, 
the  more  earnestly  do  I  pray  he  may  be  induced  to  look  with 
pity  on  my  wretched  condition.  To  such  a  man,  so  filled  with  a 
desire  to  improve  the  condition  of  God's  creatures,  a  charitable 
action  more  or  less  would  make  but  little  difference.  Oh,  tell 
me  beforehand  his  name,  and  that  of  your  kind  Lady  of  the 
Eeady  Help,  that  I  may  already  bless  and  thank  them ;  for  full 
certain  am  I,  minds  so  bent  upon  good  deeds  will  never  turn  a 
deaf  ear  to  my  petition." 

"  Now  I  dare  say  you  expect  to  be  told  the  high-sounding  titles 
of  some  great,  grand  personages.  But,  bless  you !  no  such  thing; 
no  more  parade  about  their  names  than  those  of  the  saints  them- 
selves. Our  Lady  of  Help  is  called  Madame  Georges,  and  our 
good  master  plain  M.  Rodolph." 

"  Merciful  powers !  My  wife !  my  judge !  my  executioner !  " 
faintly  exclaimed  the  robber,  struck  almost  speechless  at  this 
unexpected  revelation.  "  Rodolph ! — Madame  Georges ! " 

It  was  wholly  impossible  for  the  Schoolmaster  to  entertain  a 
doubt  respecting  the  identity  of  the  persons  to  whom  those 
names  belonged.  Previously  to  adjudging  him  his  fearful  pun- 
ishment, Rodolph  had  spoken  of  the  lively  interest  he  took  in  all 
that  concerned  Madame  Georges.  The  recent  visit  of  the  Negro 
David  to  this  farm  was  another  conclusive  proof  of  there  being 


332  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

no  mistake  in  the  matter.  It  seemed  as  though  the  very  hand 
of  Providence  had  brought  about  this  singular  rencounter,  over- 
throwing as  it  so  completely  did  his  recently  cherished  hopes  of 
emancipation  from  his  present  misery,  through  the  intervention 
of  the  generosity  of  the  proprietor  of  this  farm.  To  fly  was  his 
first  impulse.  The  very  name  of  Rodolph  inspired  him  with  the 
most  intense  terror.  Possibly  he  was  even  now  in  the  house. 
Scarcely  recovered  from  his  first  alarm,  the  brigand  rose  from 
the  table,  and,  grasping  the  hand  of  Tortillard,  exclaimed,  in  a 
wild  and  terrified  manner, — 

"  Let  us  be  gone ! — quick ! — lead  me  hence.    Let  us  go,  I  say." 

The  whole  of  the  servants  looked  on  with  astonishment. 

"Go!"  said  Father  Chatelain,  with  much  surprise.  "Why? 
wherefore  should  you  go?  What  are  you  thinking  about,  my 
friend?  Come,  what  fresh  whim  is  this?  Are  you  quite  in 
your  right  senses  ?  " 

Tortillard  cleverly  availed  himself  of  this  last  suggestion,  and, 
uttering  a  deep  sigh,  touched  his  forehead  significantly  with  his 
forefinger,  so  as  to  convey  to  the  minds  of  the  wondering  labor- 
ers the  impression  that  his  pretended  parent  was  not  quite  right 
in  his  head.  The  signal  elicited  a  corresponding  gesture  of  pity 
and  due  comprehension. 

"  Come,  I  say,  come ! "  persisted  the  Schoolmaster,  endeavor- 
ing to  draw  the  boy  along  with  him ;  but,  fully  determined  not 
to  quit  such  comfortable  quarters  to  wander  about  in  the  fields 
all  night  during  the  frost  and  snow,  Tortillard  began  in  a 
whimpering  voice  to  say, — 

"  Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !  poor  father  has  got  one  of  his  old  fits 
come  on  again.  There,  there,  father,  sit  down  and  keep  yourself 
quiet :  pray  do,  and  don't  think  of  wandering  out  in  the  cold — 
it  would  kill  you,  maybe.  No,  not  if  you  are  ever  so  angry  with 
me,  will  I  be  so  wicked  as  to  lead  you  out  in  such  weather." 
Then,  addressing  himself  to  the  laborers,  he  said,  "  Will  none 
of  you  good  gentlemen  help  me  to  keep  my  poor  dear  father 
from  risking  his  life  by  going  out  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  boy,"  answered  Father  Chatelain ;  "  make  your- 
self perfectly  easy.  We  will  not  allow  your  father  to  quit  the 
place.  He  shall  stay  here  to-night,  in  spite  of  himself." 

"  Surely  you  will  not  keep  me  here  against  my  will  ?  "  inquired 
the  wretched  Schoolmaster,  in  hurried  accents ;  "  and  perhaps, 
too,  I  should  offend  your  master  by  my  presence— that  Monsieur 
Rodolph.  You  told  me  the  farm  was  not  an  hospital ;  once  more, 
therefore,  I  ask  you  to  let  me  go  forth  in  peace  on  my  way." 

"  Offend  our  master ! — that  you  would  not,  I  am  quite  sure. 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  333 

But  make  yourself  easy  on  that  score.  I  am  sorry  to  say  lie 
does  not  live  here,  neither  do  we  see  him  half  as  frequently  as 
we  could  wish.  But,  if  even  he  had  been  here,  your  presence 
would  have  made  no  sort  of  difference  to  him." 

"  No,  no,"  persisted  the  blind  man  with  continued  alarm ; 
"  I  have  changed  my  mind  about  applying  to  him.  My  son  is 
right.  No  doubt  my  relation  at  Louvres  will  take  care  of  me. 
I  will  go  there  at  once." 

"All  I  have  got  to  say,"  replied  Father  Chatelain,  kindly 
conceiving  that  he  was  speaking  to  a  man  whose  brain  was  un- 
Jiappily  affected,  "  is  just  this — that  to  attempt  to  proceed  on 
your  journey  with  this  poor  child  to-night  is  wholly  out  of  the 
question.  Come,  let  me  put  matters  to  rights  for  you,  and  say 
no  more  about  it." 

Although  now  reassured  of  Rodolph's  not  being  at  Bouqueval, 
the  terrors  of  the  Schoolmaster  were  by  no  means  dissipated; 
and,  spite  of  his  frightfully  disfigured  countenance,  he  was  in 
momentary  dread  of  being  recognized  by  his  wife,  who  might  at 
any  moment  enter  the  kitchen,  when  he  was  perfectly  persuaded 
she  would  instantly  denounce  and  give  him  into  custody;  his 
firm  impression  having  been,  from  the  hour  of  receiving  his 
horrible  punishment  from  the  hands  of  Rodolph,  that  it  was 
done  to  satisfy  the  hatred  and  vengeance  of  Madame  Georges. 
But,  unable  to  quit  the  farm,  the  ruffian  found  himself  wholly 
at  the  mercy  of  Tortillard.  Eesigning  himself,  therefore,  to 
what  was  unavoidable,  yet  anxious  to  escape  from  the  eyes  of  his 
wife,  he  said  to  the  venerable  laborer, — 

"  Since  you  kindly  assure  me  my  being  here  will  in  no  way 
displease  either  your  master  or  mistress,  I  will  gladly  accept  your 
hospitality ;  but,  as  I  am  much  fatigued,  and  must  set  out  again 
at  break  of  day,  I  would  humbly  ask  permission  to  go  at  once  to 
my  bed." 

"  Oh,  yes,  to-morrow  morning,  by  all  means,  and  as  soon  as 
you  like;  we  are  very  early  people  here.  And,  for  fear  even  that 
you  should  again  wander  from  the  right  road,  someone  shall 
conduct  you  part  of  the  way." 

"  Tf  you  have  no  objection,"  said  Jean  Rene",  addressing  Father 
Ghfitelain,  "  I  will  see  the  poor  man  a  good  step  on  the  road ; 
because  Madame  Georges  said  yesterday,  I  was  to  take  the  chaise 
and  go  to  the  lawyer's  at  Villiers  le  Bel  to  fetch  a  large  sum  of 
money  she  requires  of  him." 

"  Go  with  the  poor  blind  traveler  by  all  means,"  replied  Father 
Chatelain ;  "  but  you  must  walk,  mind.  Madame  has  changed 
her  mind  about  sending  to  Villiers  le  Bel,  and,  wisely  reflecting 


334:  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

that  it  was  not  worth  while  to  have  so  large  a  sum  lying  useless 
at  the  farm,  has  determined  to  let  it  remain  with  the  lawyer  till 
Monday  next,  which  will  be  the  day  she  requires  it." 

"Of  course,  Father  Chatelain;  mistress  knows  best.  But 
please  to  tell  me  why  she  should  consider  it  unsafe  to  have  money 
at  the  farm.  What  is  she  afraid  of  ?  " 

"  Of  nothing,  my  lad.  Thank  God,  there  is  no  occasion  for 
fear !  But,  for  all  that,  I  would  much  rather  have  five  hundred 
sacks  of  corn  on  the  premises  than  ten  bags  of  crowns.  Come," 
said  old  Chatelain,  addressing  himself  to  the  brigand  and  Tortil- 
lard,  "  come,  follow  me,  friend ;  and  you  too,  my  lad."  Then, 
taking  up  a  small  lamp,  he  conducted  his  two  guests  to  a  chamber 
on  the  ground-floor,  first  traversing  a  large  passage  into  which 
several  doors  opened.  Placing  the  light  on  a  table,  the  old 
laborer  said  to  the  Schoolmaster,  "Here  is  your  lodging,  and 
may  God  grant  you  a  good  and  peaceful  night's  repose,  my  good 
friend !  As  for  you,  my  little  man,  you  are  sure  to  sleep  sound 
and  well :  it  belongs  to  your  happy  age  to  do  so." 

The  Schoolmaster,  pensive  and  meditative,  sat  down  by  the 
side  of  the  bed  to  which  Tortillard  conducted  him.  At  the 
instant  when  Father  Chatelain  was  quitting  the  room,  Tortillard 
made  him  a  sign  indicative  of  his  desire  to  speak  with  him  alone, 
and  hastily  rejoined  him  in  the  passage. 

"  What  is  it,  my  boy,  you  have  to  say  to  me  ?  "  inquired  the 
old  man  kindly. 

"  Ah,  my  kind  sir,  I  only  wanted  to  say  that  my  father  is 
frequently  seized  during  the  night  with  most  violent  convulsion- 
fits,  which  require  a  much  stronger  person  than  I  am  to  hold 
him;  should  I  be  obliged  to  call  for  help,  is  there  any  person 
near  who  could  hear  me  ?  " 

"  Poor  child !  "  said  the  laborer,  sympathizingly ;  "  make  your- 
self easy.  There, — do  you  see  that  door  beside  the  staircase  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  good,  kind  gentleman ;  I  see  it." 

"  Well,  one  of  the  farm-laborers  sleeps  in  that  room.  You 
will  only  just  have  to  run  to  him.  He  never  locks  his  door ;  and 
he  will  come  to  your  father  in  an  instant." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  God  bless  you !  I  will  remember  all  your 
kindness  when  I  say  my  prayers.  But  suppose,  sir,  the  man  and 
myself  were  not  strong  enough  together  to  manage  my  poor 
father  when  these  violent  convulsions  came  on,  could  you,  who 
look  so  good,  and  speak  so  kind — could  you  be  kind  enough  to 
come  and  tell  us  what  to  do?  " 

"  Me,  my  boy  ?  Oh,  I  sleep,  as  well  as  all  the  other  men- 
servants,  out  of  the  house,  in  a  large  outbuilding  in  the  court- 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM,  335 

yard.  But  make  yourself  quite  comfortable.  Jean  Rene  could 
manage  a  mad  bull,  he  is  so  powerful.  Besides,  if  you  really 
wished  any  further  help,  he  would  go  and  call  up  our  old  cook; 
she  sleeps  on  the  first  floor,  even  with  our  mistress  and  young 
mademoiselle:  and  I  can  promise  you  that  our  old  woman  is  a 
most  excellent  sick-nurse,  should  your  father  require  anyone  to 
attend  to  him  when  the  fit  is  over." 

"  Thank  you,  kind  gentleman,  a  thousand  times.  Good-night, 
sir.  I  will  go  now  and  pray  of  God  to  bless  you  for  your  kind- 
ness and  pity  to  the  poor  blind." 

"  Good  night,  my  lad !  Let  us  hope  both  you  and  your  father 
will  enjoy  a  sound  night's  rest,  and  have  no  occasion  to  require 
any  person's  help.  You  had  better  return  to  your  room  now; 
your  poor  father  may  be  wanting  you." 

"I  will,  sir.     Good-night,  and  thank  you!" 

"  God  preserve  you  both,  my  child ! "  And  the  old  man  re- 
turned to  the  kitchen. 

Scarcely  had  he  turned  his  back,  than  the  limping  rascal  made 
one  of  those  supremely  insulting  and  derisive  gestures  familiar 
to  all  the  blackguards  of  Paris,  consisting  in  slapping  the  nape 
of  the  neck  repeatedly  with  the  left  hand,  darting  the  right  hand 
quite  open  continually  out  in  a  straight  line.  With  the  most 
consummate  audacity,  this  dangerous  child  had  just  gleaned, 
under  the  mask  of  guileless  tenderness  and  apprehension  for 
his  father,  information  most  important  for  the  furtherance  of 
the  schemes  of  the  Chouette  and  Schoolmaster.  He  had  ascer- 
tained during  the  last  few  minutes  that  the  part  of  the  building 
v.'hcre  he  slept  was  only  occupied  by  Madame  Georges,  Fleur- 
(ic-Marie,  an  old  female  servant,  and  one  of  the  farm-laborers. 
Upon  his  return  to  the  room  he  was  to  share  with  the  blind  man, 
Tortillard  carefully  avoided  approaching  him.  The  former, 
however,  heard  his  step,  and  growled  out, — 

"  Where  have  you  been,  you  vagabond  ?  " 

"  What !  you  want  to  know,  do  you,  old  blind  'un  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'll  make  you  pay  for  all  you  have  made  me  suffer  this 
evening,  you  wretched  urchin ! "  exclaimed  the  Schoolmaster, 
rising  furiously,  and  groping  about  in  every  direction  after 
Tortillard,  feeling  by  the  walls  as  a  guide.  "  I'll  strangle  you 
when  I  catch  you,  you  young  fiend — you  infernal  viper !  " 

"Poor,  dear  father!  How  prettily  he  plays  at  blindman's 
buff  with  his  own  little  boy,"  said  Tortillard,  grinning,  and  en- 
joying the  ease  with  which  he  escaped  from  the  impotent 
attempts  of  the  Schoolmaster  to  seize  him,  who,  though  impelled 
to  the  exertion  by  his  over-boiling  rage,  was  soon  compelled  to 


336  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

cease,  and,  as  had  been  the  case  before,  to  give  up  all  hopes  of 
inflicting  the  revenge  he  yearned  to  bestow  on  the  impish  son  of 
Bras  Rouge. 

Thus  compelled  to  submit  to  the  impudent  persecution  of  his 
juvenile  tormentor,  and  await  the  propitious  hour  when  all  his 
injuries  could  safely  be  avenged,  the  brigand  determined  to  re- 
serve his  powerless  wrath  for  a  fitting  opportunity  of  paying 
off  old  scores,  and,  worn-out  in  body  by  his  futile  violence,  threw 
himself,  swearing  and  cursing,  on  the  bed. 

"Dear  father! — sweet  father! — have  you  got  the  toothache 
that  you  swear  so?  Ah,  if  Monsieur  le  Cure  heard  you,  what 
would  he  say  to  you  ?  He  would  give  you  such  penance !  Oh, 
my!" 

"That's  right! — go  on!'"  replied  the  ruffian,  in  a  hollow  and 
suppressed  voice,  after  long  enduring  this  entertaining  vivacity 
on  the  part  of  the  young  gentleman.  "Laugh  at  me! — mock 
me! — make  sport  of  my  calamity,  cowardly  scoundrel  that  you 
are!  That  is  a  fine,  noble  action,  is  it  not?  Just  worthy  of 
such  a  mean,  ignoble,  contemptible  soul  as  dwells  within  that 
wretched,  crooked  body !  " 

"  Oh,  how  fine  we  talk !  How  nice  we  preach  about  being 
generous,  and  all  that,  don't  we  ? "  cried  Tortillard,  bursting 
into  peals  of  laughter.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  dear  father,  but  I 
can't  possibly  help  thinking  it  so  funny  to  hear  you,  whose  fingers 
were  regular  fishhooks,  picking  and  stealing  whatever  came  in 
their  way;  and,  as  for  generosity,  I  beg  you  don't  mention  it, 
because,  till  you  got  your  eyes  poked  out,  I  don't  suppose  you 
ever  thought  of  such  a  word  !  " 

"  But,  at  least,  I  never  did  you  any  harm.  Why,  then,  tor- 
ment me  thus  ?  " 

"  Because,  in  the  first  place,  you  said  what  I  did  not  like  to 
the  Chouette;  then  you  had  a  fancy  for  stopping  and  playing 
the  fool  among  the  clodhoppers  here.  Perhaps  you  mean  to  com- 
mence a  course  of  asses'  milk  ?  " 

"  You  impudent  young  beggar!  If  I  had  only  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  remaining  at  this  farm — which  I  now  wish  sunk  in  the 
bottomless  pit,  or  blasted  with  eternal  lightning — you  should 
not  have  played  your  tricks  of  devilish  cruelty  with  me  any 
longer ! " 

"You  to  remain  here!  that  would  be  a  farce!  Who,  then, 
would  Madame  la  Chouette  have  for  her  bete  de  souff  ranee? 
Me,  perhaps,  thank  ye ! — don't  you  wish  you  may  get  it  ?  " 

"  Miserable  abortion !  " 

"  Abortion !  ah,  yes,  another  reason  why  I  say,  as  well  as  Aunt 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  337 

Chouette,  there  is  nothing  so  funny  as  to  see  you  in  one  of  your 
unaccountable  passions — you,  who  could  kill  me  with  one  blow 
of  your  fist;  it's  more  funny  than  if  you  were  a  poor,  weak 
creature.  How  very  funny  you  were  at  supper  to-night !  Dieu 
de  Dieu!  what  a  lark  I  had  all  to  myself !  why,  it  was  better  than 
a  play  at  the  Gaite.  At  every  kick  I  gave  you  on  the  sly,  your 
passion  made  all  the  blood  fly  in  your  face,  and  your  white  eyes 
became  red  all  round ;  they  only  wanted  a  bit  of  blue  in  the 
middle  to  have  been  real  tricolored.  They  would  have  made  two 
fine  cockades  for  the  town-sergeant,  wouldn't  they?" 

"Come,  come,  you  like  to  laugh — you  are  merry:  bah!  it's 
natural  at  your  age — it's  natural — I'm  not  angry  with  you," 
said  the  Schoolmaster,  in  an  air  of  affected  carelessness,  hoping 
to  propitiate  Tortillard  ;  "  but,  instead  of  standing  there,  saying 
saucy  things,  it  would  be  much  better  for  you  to  remember  what 
the  Chouette  told  you :  you  say  you  are  very  fond  of  her.  You 
should  examine  all  over  the  place,  and  get  the  print  of  the  lock?. 
Didn't  you  hear  them  say,  they  expected  to  have  a  large  sum  of 
money  here  on  Monday?  we  will  be  amongst  them  then,  and  have 
our  share.  I  should  have  been  foolish  to  have  stayed  here;  I 
should  have  had  enough  of  these  asses  of  country-people  at  the 
end  of  a  week,  shouldn't  I,  boy  ?  "  asked  the  ruffian,  to  flatter 
Tortillard. 

"  If  you  had  stayed  here,  I  should  have  been  very  much 
annoyed,  'pon  my  word  and  honor,"  replied  Bras  Eouge's  son, 
in  a  mocking  tone. 

"  Yes,  yes,  there's  a  good  business  to  be  done  in  this  house ; 
and,  if  there  should  be  nothing  to  steal,  yet  I  will  return  here 
with  the  Chouette,  if  only  to  have  my  revenge,"  said  the  mis- 
creant in  a  tone  full  of  fury  and  malice,  "  for  now  I  am  sure  it 
is  my  wife  who  excited  that  infernal  Eodolph  against  me; — he, 
who  in  blinding  me  has  put  me  at  the  mercy  of  all  the  world — 
of  the  Chouette,  and  a  young  blackguard  like  yourself.  Well,  if 
I  cannot  avenge  myself  on  him,  I  will  have  vengeance  against 
my  wife, — yes,  she  shall  pay  me  for  all,  even  if  I  set  fire  to  this 
accursed  house,  and  bury  myself  in  its  moldering  ruins.  Yes, 
I  will— I  will  have— 

"  You  will,  you  want  to  get  hold  of  your  wife,  eh,  old  gentle- 
man ?  She  is  within  ten  paces  of  you,  that's  vexing,  ain't  it  ?  If 
I  liked,  I  could  lead  you  to  the  door  of  her  room,  that's  what  I 
could,  for  I  know  the  room.  I  know  it — I  know  it — I  know  it," 
added  Tortillard,  singing  according  to  his  custom. 

"  You  know  her  room  ?  "  said  the  Schoolmaster,  in  an  agony 
of  fervent  joy;  "you  know  it?" 


338  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"I  see  you  coming,"  said  Tortillard;  "come,  play  the  pretty, 
and  get  on  your  hind  legs  like  a  dog  when  they  throw  him  a 
dainty  bone.  Now,  old  Cupid  !  " 

"  You  know  my  wife's  chamber  ?  "  said  the  miscreant,  turning 
to  the  side  whence  the  sound  of  Tortillard's  voice  proceeded. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it ;  and,  what's  still  better,  only  one  of  the 
farm-servants  sleeps  on  that  side  of  the  house  where  we  are.  I 
know  his  door — the  key  is  in  it — click !  one  turn,  and  he's  all 
safe  and  fast.  Come,  get  up,  old  blind  Cupid  !  * 

"  Who  told  you  all  this  ? "  asked  the  blind  scoundrel,  rising 
involuntarily. 

"  Capital,  Cupid !  By  the  side  of  your  wife's  room  sleeps  an 
old  cook — one  more  turn  of  the  key,  and  click !  we  are  masters 
of  the  house — masters  of  your  wife,  and  the  young  girl  with  the 
gray  mantle,  that  you  must  catch  hold  of  and  carry  off.  Now, 
then,  your  paw,  old  Cupid;  do  the  pretty  to  your  master 
directly." 

"  You  lie !  you  lie !  how  could  you  know  all  this  ?  " 

"  Why,  I'm  lame  in  my  leg,  but  not  in  my  head.  Before  we 
left  the  kitchen,  I  said  to  the  old  guzzling  laborer,  that  some- 
times in  the  night  you  had  convulsions,  and  I  asked  him  where 
I  could  get  assistance  if  you  were  attacked.  He  said  if  you  were 
attacked  I  might  call  up  the  man-servant  and  the  cook ;  and  he 
showed  me  where  they  slept :  one  down,  the  other  up-stairs  in  the 
first  floor,  close  to  your  wife — your  wife — your  wife !  " 

And  Tortillard  repeated  his  monotonous  song.  After  a 
lengthened  silence  the  Schoolmaster  said  to  him,  in  a  calm  voice, 
but  with  an  air  of  desperate  determination, — 

"  Listen,  boy.  I  have  stayed  long  enough.  Lately — yes,  yes, 
I  confess  it — I  had  a  hope  which  now  makes  my  lot  appear  still 
more  frightful :  the  prison,  the  bagne,  the  guillotine,  are  nothing 
— nothing  to  what  I  have  endured  since  this  morning;  and  I 
shall  have  the  same  to  endure  always.  Lead  me  to  my  wife's 
room;  I  have  my  knife  here;  I  will  kill  her.  I  shall  be  killed 
afterwards :  but  what  of  that  ?  My  hatred  swells  till  it  chokes 
me;  I  shall  have  revenge,  and  that  will  console  me.  What  I 
now  suffer  is  too  much — too  much!  for  me,  too,  before  whom 
everybody  trembled.  Now,  lad,  if  you  knew  what  I  endure,  even 
you  would  pity  me.  Even  now  my  brain  appears  ready  to 
burst;  my  pulse  beats  as  if  my  veins  would  burst;  my  head 
whirls " 

"  A  cold  in  your  '  knowledge-box/  old  chap — that's  it ;  sneeze 
— that'll  cure  you,"  said  Tortillard,  with  a  loud  grin;  "what 
say  you  to  a  pinch  of  snuff,  old  brick  ?  " 


AN  EVENING  AT  THE  FARM.  339 

And  striking  loudly  on  the  back  of  his  left  hand,  which  was 
clenched,  as  if  he  were  tapping  on  the  lid  of  a  snuff-box,  he 
sang,— 

"  J'ai  du  bon  tabac  dans  ma  tabatiere; 
J'ai  du  bon  tabac,  tu  n'en  auras  pas." 

"  Oli,  mon  Dieu!  mon  Dieu!  they  will  drive  me  mad! "  cried 
the  brigand,  becoming  really  almost  demented  by  a  sort  of  nerv- 
ous excitement  arising  from  the  blood-thirsty  revenge  and  im- 
placable hatred,  which  in  vain  sought  to  satiate  itself.  The 
exuberant  strength  of  this  monster  could  only  be  equaled  by  the 
impossibility  of  satisfying  his  deadly  desires.  Let  us  imagine  a 
hungry,  furious,  maddened  wolf,  teazed  during  a  whole  day  by  a 
child  through  the  bars  of  his  den,  and  scenting  within  two  paces 
of  him  a  victim  who  would  at  once  satisfy  his  hunger  and  his 
rage.  At  the  last  taunt  of  Tortillard  the  brigand  almost  lost 
his  senses:  unable  to  reach  his  victim,  he  desired  in  his  frenzy 
to  shed  his  own  blood,  for  his  blood  was  stifling  him.  One 
moment  he  resolved  to  kill  himself,  and,  had  he  had  a  loaded 
pistol  in  his  hand,  he  would  not  have  hesitated;  he  fumbled  in 
his  pocket,  and  drew  out  a  clasp-knife,  opened  it,  and  raised  it 
to  strike :  but,  quick  as  were  his  movements,  reflection,  fear,  and 
vital  instinct,  were  still  more  rapid, — the  murderer  lacked  cour- 
age— his  arm  fell  on  his  knees.  Tortillard  had  watched  all  his 
actions  with  an  attentive  eye,  and,  when  he  saw  the  finale  of  this 
pseudo-tragedy,  he  continued,  mockingly, — 

"  How,  boys,  a  duel  ?    Ah,  pluck  the  chickens !  " 

The  Schoolmaster,  fearing  that  he  should  lose  his  senses  if  he 
gave  way  to  an  ineffectual  burst  of  fury,  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
this  fresh  insult  of  Tortillard,  who  so  impertinently  commented 
on  the  cowardice  of  an  assassin  who  recoiled  from  suicide.  De- 
spairing of  escape  from  what  he  termed,  by  a  sort  of  avenging 
fatality,  the  cruelty  of  his  cursed  child,  the  ruffian  sought  to  try 
what  could  be  done  by  assailing  the  avarice  of  the  son  of  Bras 
Rouge. 

"  Ah,"  said  he  to  him,  in  a  tone  almost  supplicatory,  "  lead 
me  to  the  door  of  my  wife's  room,  and  take  anything  you  like 
that's  in  her  room  and  run  away  with  it!  leave  me  to  myself. 
You  may  cry  out  'murder'  if  you  like;  they  will  apprehend 
me — kill  me  on  the  spot — I  care  not,  I  shall  die  revenged  if  I 
have  not  the  courage  to  end  my  existence  myself.  Oh,  lead  me 
there — lead  me  there:  depend  on  it  she  has  gold,  jewels,  any- 
thing, and  you  may  take  all,  all  for  yourself,  for  your  own,  do 
you  mind  ? — your  own ;  only  lead  me  to  the  door  where  she  is," 


34:0  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Yes,  I  mind  well  enough :  you  want  me  to  lead  you  to  her 
door,  then  to  her  bed,  and  then  to  tell  you  when  to  strike,  then 
to  guide  your  hand — eh  !  that's  it,  ain't  it  ?  You  want  to  make 
me  a  handle  to  your  knife,  old  monster !  "  replied  Tortillard, 
with  an  expression  of  contempt,  anger,  and  horror,  which,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  gave  an  appearance  of  seriousness  to  his 
weazel  face,  usually  all  impertinence  and  insolence ;  I'll  be  killed 
first,  I  tell  you,  sooner  than  I'll  lead  you  to  where  your  wife  is !  " 

"You  refuse?" 

The  son  of  Bras  Eouge  made  no  reply.  He  approached  with 
bare  feet  and  without  being  heard  by  the  Schoolmaster,  who, 
seated  on  the  bed,  still  held  his  large  knife  in  his  hand,  and 
then,  in  a  moment,  with  marvelous  quickness  and  dexterity, 
Tortillard  snatched  from  him  his  weapon,  and  with  one  jump 
skipped  to  the  further  end  of  the  chamber. 

"My  knife!  my  knife!"  cried  the  brigand,  extending  his 
arms. 

"  No ;  for  then  you  might  to-morrow  morning  ask  to  speak 
with  your  wife  and  try  to  kill  her,  since,  as  you  say,  you  have  had 
enough  of  life,  and  are  such  a  coward  that  you  don't  dare  kill 
yourself." 

"How  he  defends  my  wife  against  me!"  said  the  bandit, 
whose  intellect  became  obscured ;  "  This  little  wretch  is  a  devil ! 
Where  am  I  ?  why  does  he  try  to  save  her  ?  " 

"Because  I  like  it,"  said  Tortillard,  whose  face  resumed  its 
usual  appearance  of  sly  impudence. 

"Ah,  is  that  it?"  murmured  the  Schoolmaster,  whose  mind 
was  wandering ;  "  well,  then,  I'll  fire  the  house !  will  all  burn — 
all!  I  prefer  that  furnace  to  the  other.  The  candle!  the 
candle ! " 

"  Ah !  ah  !  ah!  "  exclaimed  Tortillard,  bursting  out  again  into 
loud  laughter.  "  If  your  own  candle — your  '  peepers ' — had  not 
been  snuffed  out,  and  forever,  you  would  have  known  that  ours 
had  been  extinguished  an  hour  ago."  And  Tortillard  sang, — 

"  Ma  chandelle  est  morte, 
Je  n'ai  plus  de  feu." 

The  Schoolmaster  gave  a  deep  groan,  stretched  out  his  arms, 
and  fell  heavily  on  the  floor,  his  face  on  the  ground,  and,  struck 
by  a  rush  of  blood,  remained  motionless. 

"  Not  to  be  caught,  old  boy,"  said  Tortillard ;  "  that's  only  a 
trick  to  make  me  come  to  you,  that  you  may  serve  me  out !  When 
you  have  been  long  enough  on  the  floor,  you'll  get  up." 

Bras  Rouge's  boy  resolved  not  to  go  to  sleep,  for  fear  of  being 


THE  DREAM.  341 

surprised  by  the  Schoolmaster ;  so  seated  himself  in  a  chair,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ruffian,  persuaded  that  it  was  a  trap  laid 
for  him,  and  not  believing  the  Schoolmaster  in  any  danger. 
That  he  might  employ  himself  agreeably,  Tortillard  drew  silently 
and  carefully  from  his  pocket  a  little  red  silk  purse,  and  counted 
slowly,  and  with  looks  of  joy  and  avarice,  the  seventeen  pieces 
of  gold  which  it  contained.  Tortillard  had  acquired  his  ill- 
gotten  riches  thus : — It  may  be  remembered  that  Madame  d'Har- 
\ille  was  nearly  surprised  by  her  husband  at  the  rendezvous 
which  she  had  granted  to  the  commandant.  Rodolph,  when  he 
had  given  the  purse  to  the  young  lady,  had  told  her  to  go  up  to 
the  fifth  story  to  the  Morels,  under  the  pretense  of  bringing  them 
assistance.  Madame  d'Harville  ran  quickly  up  the  staircase, 
holding  the  purse  in  her  hands,  when  Tortillard,  who  was  com- 
ing from  the  quack's,  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  purse,  and,  pre- 
tending to  stumble  as  he  passed  the  marquise,  pushed  against 
her,  and,  in  the  shock,  slyly  stole  the  purse.  Madame  d'Harville, 
bewildered,  and  hearing  her  husband's  footsteps,  hurried  on  to 
the  fifth  story,  without  thinking  or  complaining  of  the  impudent 
robbery  of  the  little  cripple.  After  having  counted  and  re- 
counted his  gold,  Tortillard  cast  his  eyes  towards  the  School- 
master, who  was  extended  still  on  the  ground.  Disquieted  for  a 
moment,  he  listened,  and,  hearing  the  robber  breathe  freely,  he 
thought  that  he  was  still  meditating  some  trick  against  him. 
Chance  saved  the  Schoolmaster  from  a  congestion  of  the  brain, 
which  else  must  have  proved  mortal.  His  fall  had  caused  a 
salutary  and  abundant  bleeding  at  the  nose.  He  then  fell  into  a 
kind  of  feverish  torpor — half  sleep,  half  delirium,  and  then  had 
this  wild,  this  fearful  dream ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

TUB   DREAM. 

THIS  was  the  Schoolmaster's  dream : — 

He  was  again  in  Rodolph's  house  in  the  Allee  des  Veuves. 
The  saloon  in  which  the  miscreant  had  received  his  appalling 
punishment  had  not  undergone  any  alteration.  Rodolph  him- 
self was  sitting  at  the  table  on  which  were  the  Schoolmaster's 
papers  and  the  little  Saint-Esprit  of  lapis  which  he  had  given  to 
the  Chouette.  Rodolph's  countenance  was  grave  and  sad.  On 
his  right  the  Negro  David  was  standing  motionless  and  silent; 


342  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

on  his  left  was  the  Chourineur,  who  looked  on  with  a  bewildered 
mien.  In  his  dream,  the  Schoolmaster  was  no  longer  blind,  but 
saw  through  a  medium  of  clear  blood,  which  filled  the  cavities 
of  his  eyeballs.  All  and  everything  seemed  to  him  tinted  with 
red.  As  birds  of  prey  hover  on  motionless  wing  above  the  head 
of  the  victim  which  they  fascinate  before  they  devour,  so  a 
monstrous  screech-owl  (chouette),  having  for  its  head  the  hide- 
ous visage  of  the  one-eyed  hag,  soared  over  the  Schoolmaster, 
keeping  fixed  on  him  her  round,  glaring,  and  green  eye.  This 
fixed  stare  was  upon  his  breast  like  a  heavy  weight.  The  School- 
master discerned  a  vast  lake  of  blood  separating  him  from  the 
table  at  which  Rodolph  was  seated.  Then  his  inflexible  judge, 
as  well  as  the  Chourineur  and  the  Negro,  grew  and  grew,  ex- 
panding into  colossal  proportions,  until  they  touched  the  ceiling ; 
and  then  it  also  became  higher  in  proportion.  The  lake  of  blood 
was  calm,  and  as  unruffled  as  a  red  mirror:  the  Schoolmaster 
saw  his  hideous  countenance  reflected  therein.  Then  that  was 
suddenly  effaced  by  the  tumult  of  the  swelling  waves.  From 
their  troubled  surface  there  arose  a  vapor  resembling  the  foul 
exhalation  of  a  marsh,  a  livid-colored  mist  of  that  violet  hue 
peculiar  to  the  lips  of  the  dead.  In  proportion  as  this  miasma 
rises — rises,  the  faces  of  Eodolph,  the  Chourineur,  and  the 
Negro,  continue  to  expand  and  expand  in  an  extraordinary  man- 
ner, and  always  remain  above  this  fearful  cloud.  In  the  midst 
of  the  awful  vapor,  the  Schoolmaster  sees  the  pale  ghosts,  and 
those  murderous  scenes  in  which  he  had  been  the  actor.  In  this 
fantastic  mirage  he  first  sees  a  little  bald-headed  old  man,  clad 
in  a  long  brown  coat,  and  wearing  an  eye-shade  of  green  silk. 
He  is  employing  himself  in  a  dilapidated  chamber  in  counting 
and  arranging  pieces  of  gold  into  piles  by  the  light  of  a  lamp. 
Through  the  window,  lighted  by  the  dim  moonlight  reflected  on 
the  tops  of  some  high  trees  waving  in  the  wind,  the  Schoolmaster 
recognizes  his  own  figure.  Pressing  his  distorted  features  against 
the  glass,  following  every  motion  of  the  old  man  with  glaring 
eyes,  then  breaking  a  pane,  he  opens  the  window  itself,  leaps  with 
a  bound  upon  his  victim,  and  stabs  him  between  the  shoulders 
with  his  long  and  keen  knife.  The  movement  is  so  rapid,  the 
blow  so  quick  and  sure,  that  the  dead  body  of  the  old  man  re- 
mains seated  in  the  chair. 

The  murderer  tries  to  withdraw  his  weapon  from  the  dead 
body — he  cannot !  He  redoubles  his  efforts — in  vain !  He  then 
seeks  to  quit  the  deadly  steel — impossible ! 

The  hand  of  the  assassin  clings  to  the  handle  of  the  poignard, 
as  the  blade  of  the  poignard  clings  to  the  frame  of  the  wounded 


HE    LEAPS    WITH    A    BOUND    UPON    HIS    VICTIM 


THE  DREAM.  343 

man.  The  murderer  then  hears  the  sound  of  clinking  spurs  and 
clashing  swords  in  the  adjoining  room.  He  must  escape  at  all 
risks,  and  attempts  to  carry  with  him  the  body  of  the  feeble 
old  man,  from  which  he  cannot  withdraw  either  his  weapon  or 
his  hand. 

He  cannot  do  even  this.  The  light  and  feeble  carcass  weighs 
him  down  like  a  mass  of  lead.  Despite  his  herculean  shoulders, 
his  desperate  efforts,  the  Schoolmaster  cannot  even  stir  this 
overwhelming  weight. 

The  sound  of  echoing  steps  and  jingling  sabers  comes  nearer 
and  nearer.  The  key  turns  in  the  lock — the  door  opens.  The 
vision  disappears. 

And  then  the  screech-owl  flaps  her  wings,  and  shrieks  out, — 

"!T  is  THE  OLD  MISER  OF  THE  RUE  DE  LA  EOULE.    YOUR 

MAIDEN   MURDER — MURDER — MURDER  !  " 

A  moment's  darkness — then  the  miasma  which  covers  the  lake 
of  blood  resumes  its  transparency,  and  another  specter  is 
revealed. 

The  day  begins  to  dawn — the  fog  is  thick  and  heavy.  A  man, 
clothed  like  a  cattle-dealer,  lies  stretched  dead  on  the  bank  of 
the  highroad.  The  trampled  earth,  the  torn  turf,  prove  that  the 
victim  has  made  a  desperate  resistance.  The  man  has  five  bleed- 
ing wounds  in  his  breast.  He  is  lifeless;  yet  still  he  seems  to 
whistle  on  his  dogs,  calling  to  them,  "Help! — help!" 

But  his  whistling,  his  cries,  proceed  from  five  large  and  gaping 
wounds, 

"  Each  one  a  death  in  nature," 

which  move  like  so  many  complaining  lips.  The  five  calls,  the 
five  whistlings,  all  made  and  heard  at  once,  come  from  the  dead 
man  by  the  mouths  of  his  gushing  wounds ;  and  fearful  are  they 
to  hear ! 

At  this  instant  the  Chouette  waves  her  wings,  and  mocks  the 
deathly  groans  of  the  victim  with  five  bursts  of  laughter — a 
laughter  as  unearthly  and  as  horrible  as  the  madman's  mirth; 
and  then  again  she  shrieks, — 

"THE   CATTLE-DEALER  OF  POISSY.     MURDER! — MURDER! — 

MURDER !  " 

Protracted  and  underground  echoes  first  repeat  aloud  the 
malevolent  laughter  of  the  screech-owl.  Then  they  seem  to  die 
away  in  the  very  bowels  of  the  earth. 

At  this  sound  two  large  dogs,  as  black  as  midnight,  with  eyes 
glaring  like  burning  coals,  begin  to  run  rapidly  around — around 
— around  the  Schoolmaster,  baying  furiously.  They  almost 


344  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

touch  him,  and  yet  their  bark  appears  as  distant  as  if  carried  on 
the  wind  of  the  morning. 

Gradually  these  specters  fade  away  as  the  previous  one  did, 
and  are  lost  in  the  pale  vapor  which  is  continually  ascending. 

A  new  exhalation  now  arises  from  the  lake  of  blood,  and 
spreads  itself  on  its  surface.  It  is  a  sort  of  greenish,  transparent 
mist;  it  resembles  the  vertical  section  of  a  canal  filled  with 
water.  At  first  he  sees  the  bed  of  the  canal  covered  in  by  a 
thick  vase  formed  of  numberless  reptiles  usually  imperceptible 
to  the  unassisted  eye,  but  which,  enlarged,  as  if  viewed  through 
a  microscope,  assume  monstrous  forms,  vast  proportions  rel- 
atively to  their  actual  size.  It  is  no  longer  mud,  but  a  compact, 
living,  crawling  mass — an  inextricable  conglomeration  which 
wriggles  and  curls;  so  close,  so  dense,  that  a  sullen  and  slow 
undulation  hardly  stirs  the  level  of  this  vase,  or  rather  bed  of 
foulest  animalcule.  Above  trickles  gently — gently,  a  turbid 
stream,  thick  and  stagnating,  which,  in  its  dilatory  flow,  disturbs 
the  filth  incessantly  vomited  by  the  sewers  of  a  great  city — frag- 
ments of  all  sorts,  carcasses  of  animals,  etc.,  etc.  Suddenly  the 
Schoolmaster  hears  the  plash  of  a  body,  which  falls  heavily  on 
the  water ;  in  its  recoil  the  water  sprinkles  his  very  face.  In  the 
midst  of  the  air-bubbles  which  rise  thick  and  fast  to  the  surface 
of  the  canal,  he  sees  the  body  of  a  woman,  which  sinks  rapidly  as 
she  struggles — struggles. 

Then  he  sees  himself  and  the  Chouette  running  hastily  along 
the  banks  of  St.  Martin's  Canal,  carrying  with  them  a  box  cov- 
ered with  black  cloth;  and  yet  he  is  still  present  during  all  the 
variations  of  agony  suffered  by  the  victim  whom  he  and  the 
Chouette  have  thrown  into  the  canal.  After  the  first  immersion, 
the  victim  rises  to  the  surface  and  moves  her  arms  in  violent 
agitation,  like  someone  who,  not  knowing  how  to  swim,  tries 
in  vain  to  save  herself.  Then  she  utters  a  piercing  cry — a  cry 
of  one  in  the  last  extremity — despairing — which  ends  in  the 
sullen,  stifled  sound  of  involuntary  choking ;  and  the  woman  the 
second  time  sinks  beneath  the  troubled  waters. 

The  screech-owl,  which  hovers  continually  motionless,  imi- 
tates the  convulsive  rattle  of  the  drowning  wretch,  as  she  mocked 
the  dying  groans  of  the  cattle-dealer.     In  the  midst  of  bursts 
of  deathlike  laughter,  the  screech-owl  utters, — 
"  Glou! — glou! — glou! " 

The  subterranean  echoes  repeat  the  sounds. 

A  second  time  submerged,  the  woman  is  fast  suffocating,  and 
makes  one  more  desperate  effort  for  breath ;  but,  instead  of  air, 
it  is  water  which  she  inspires.  Then  her  head  falls  back,  her 


THE  DREAM,  315 

convulsed  features  are  swollen  and  become  livid,  her  neck  be- 
comes blue  and  tumefied,  her  arms  stiffen,  and,  in  a  last  spas- 
modic effort,  the  drowning  woman  in  her  agony  moves  her  feet, 
which  are  resting  on  the  vase.  Then  she  is  surrounded  by  a  mass 
of  black  soil,  which  ascends  with  her  to  the  surface  of  the  water. 
Scarcely  has  the  choked  wretch  breathed  her  last  sigh,  than  she 
is  covered  with  myriads  of  the  microscopic  reptiles — the  greedy 
and  horrible  vermin  of  the  mud.  The  carcass  floats  for  a 
moment,  balances  for  a  moment,  and  then  sinks  slowly,  hori- 
zontally, the  feet  lower  than  the  head,  and  between  the  double 
waters  begins  to  follow  the  current  of  the  land.  Sometimes  the 
dead  corse  turns,  and  its  pale  face  is  before  the  Schoolmaster. 
Then  the  specter  fixes  on  him  glaringly  its  two  blue,  glassy,  and 
opaque  eyes ;  the  livid  mouth  opens.  The  Schoolmaster  is  far 
away  from  the  drowned  woman,  and  yet  her  lips  murmur  in  his 
ears,  "  Glou!  glou!  glou!"  accompanying  these  appalling  sylla- 
bles with  that  singular  noise  which  a  bottle  thrust  into  water 
makes  when  filling  itself. 

The  screech-owl  repeats,  "Glou!  glou!  glou!"  napping  her 
wings,  and  shrieking, — 

"THE  WOMAN  OF  THE  CANAL  ST.  MARTIN!  MURDER! — 
MURDER  ! — MURDER  !  " 

The  vision  of  the  drowned  woman  disappears.  The  lake  of 
blood,  through  which  the  Schoolmaster  still  constantly  beholds 
Rodolph,  becomes  of  a  bronzed,  black  color,  then  red  again,  and 
then  changes  instantaneously  into  a  liquid  furnace-like  molten 
metal.  Then  that  lake  of  fire  rises — rises — rises  towards  the  sky 
like  an  immense  whirlpool.  There  is  now  a  fiery  horizon  like 
iron  at  a  white  heat.  This  immense,  boundless  horizon  dazzles 
and  scorches  the  very  eyes  of  the  Schoolmaster,  who,  fascinated, 
fastened  to  the  spot,  cannot  turn  away  his  gaze.  Then,  at  the 
bottom  of  this  burning  lava,  whose  reflection  seems  to  consume 
him,  he  sees  pass  and  repass,  one  by  one,  the  black  and  giant 
specters  of  his  victims. 

"THE  MAGIC-LANTERN  OF  REMORSE! — REMORSE! — RE- 
MORSE !  "  shrieks  the  night-bird,  napping  her  hideous  wings,  and 
laughing  mockingly. 

Notwithstanding  the  intolerable  anguish  which  his  impatient 
gaze  creates,  the  Schoolmaster  has  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  grisly 
phantoms  which  move  in  the  blazing  sheet.  Then  an  inde- 
finable horror  steals  over  him.  Passing  through  every  step  of 
indescribable  torture,  by  dint  of  contemplating  this  blazing 
sight,  he  feels  his  eyeballs — which  have  replaced  the  blood  with 
which  his  orbits  were  filled  at  the  commencement  of  his  dream — 


34:6  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

he  feels  his  eyeballs  grow  hot,  burning,  and  melt  in  this  furnace 
— to  smoke  and  bubble — and  at  last  become  calcined  in  their 
cavities  like  two  crucibles  filled  with  red  fire.  By  a  fearful 
power,  after  having  seen  as  well  as  felt  the  successive  transfor- 
mations of  his  eyeballs  into  ashes,  he  falls  into  the  darkness  of 
his  actual  blindness. 

But  now,  suddenly,  his  intolerable  agonies  are  assuaged  as 
though  by  enchantment.  An  odorous  air  of  delicious  freshness 
passes  over  his  burning  eyeballs.  This  air  is  a  lovely  admixture 
of  the  scents  of  springtime,  which  exhale  from  flowers  bathed  in 
evening  dew.  The  Schoolmaster  hears  all  about  him  a  gentle 
murmur,  like  that  of  the  breeze  which  just  stirs  the  leaves — like 
that  of  a  brook  of  running  waters,  which  rushes  and  murmurs 
on  its  bed  of  stone  and  moss,  "  in  the  leafy  month  of  June." 
Thousands  of  birds  warble  the  most  enchanting  melodies.  They 
are  stilled;  and  the  voices  of  children,  of  angelic  tone,  sing 
strange,  unknown  words — words  that  are  "  winged  "  (if  we  may 
use  the  expression),  and  which  the  Schoolmaster  hears  mount  to 
heaven  with  gentle  motion.  A  feeling  of  moral  health,  of  tran- 
quillity, of  undefined  languor,  creeps  over  him  by  degrees.  It  is 
an  expansion  of  the  heart,  an  elevation  of  the  mind,  an  effort 
of  the  soul,  of  which  no  physical  feeling,  how  delicious  soever 
it  may  be,  can  impart  the  least  idea.  He  feels  himself  softly 
soaring  in  a  heavenly  sphere :  he  seems  to  rise  to  an  immeasurable 

height. 

****** 

After  having  for  some  moments  reveled  in  this  unspeakable 
felicity,  he  again  finds  himself  in  the  dark  abyss  of  his  habitual 
thoughts.  His  dream  continues ;  but  he  is  again  but  the  muzzled 
miscreant  who  blasphemes  and  curses  in  the  paroxysm  of  his 
impotent  rage.  A  voice  is  heard — sonorous — solemn !  It  is 
Eodolph's !  The  Schoolmaster  starts,  "  like  a  guilty  thing  upon 
a  fearful  summons."  He  has  the  vague  consciousness  of  a 
dream;  but  the  alarm  with  which  Eodolph  inspires  him  is  so 
great,  that  he  tries,  but  vainly,  to  escape  from  this  fresh  vision. 
The  voice  speaks — he  listens!  The  tone  of  Eodolph  is  not 
severe ;  it  is  "  rather  in  sorrow  than  in  anger." 

"  Unhappy  man/'  he  says  to  the  Schoolmaster,  "  the  hour  of 
your  repentance  has  not  yet  sounded.  God  only  knows  when  it 
will  strike.  The  punishment  of  your  crimes  is  still  incomplete: 
you  have  suffered,  but  not  expiated.  Destiny  follows  out  its  work 
of  full  justice.  Your  accomplices  have  become  your  tormentors. 
A  woman,  a  child,  tame — subdue — conquer  you.  When  I  sen- 
tenced you  to  a  terrible  punishment  for  your  crimes,  I  said — do 


THE  DREAM.  3^7 

you  remember  my  words? — '  You  have  wickedly  abused  the  great 
bodily  strength  bestowed  upon  you:  I  will  paralyze  that  strength. 
The  strongest  have  trembled  before  you:  I  will  make  you  hence- 
forward shrink  in  the  presence  of  the  weakest  of  beings/  You 
have  left  the  obscure  retreat  in  which  you  might  have  dwelt  for 
repentance  and  expiration.  You  were  afraid  of  silence  and  soli- 
tude. You  sought  to  drown  remembrance  by  new  crimes.  Just 
now,  in  a  fearful  and  blood-thirsty  access  of  passion,  you  have 
wished  to  kill  your  wife.  She  is  here  under  the  same  roof  as 
yourself.  She  sleeps  without  defense.  You  have  a  knife;  her 
apartment  is  close  at  hand.  There  was  nothing  to  prevent  you 
from  reaching  her;  nothing  could  have  protected  her  from  your 
rage — nothing  but  your  impotence.  The  dream  you  have  had, 
and  in  which  you  are  still  bound,  may  teach  you  much — may 
save  you.  The  mysterious  phantoms  of  this  dream  bear  with 
them  a  most  pregnant  meaning.  The  lake  of  blood,  in  which 
your  victims  have  appeared,  is  the  blood  you  have  shed.  The 
molten  lava  which  replaced  it  is  the  gnawing,  eating  remorse, 
which  must  consume  you  before  one  day,  that  the  Almighty, 
having  mercy  on  your  protracted  tortures,  shall  call  you  to  Him- 
self, and  let  you  taste  the  ineffable  sweetness  of  His  gracious 
forgiveness.  But  this  will  not  be!  No,  no! — these  warnings 
will  he  useless.  Far  from  repenting,  you  regret  every  day,  with 
horrid  blasphemies,  the  time  when  you  could  commit  such 
atrocities.  Alas!  from  this  continual  struggle  between  your 
blood-thirsty  desires  and  the  impossibility  of  satisfying  them — 
between  your  habits  of  fierce  oppression  and  the  compulsion  of 
submitting  to  beings  as  weak  as  they  are  depraved,  there  will 
result  to  you  a  fate  so  fearful — so  appalling.  Ah,  unhappy 
wretch ! " 

Rodolph's  voice  faltered,  and  for  a  moment  he  was  silent,  as 
if  emotion  and  horror  had  hindered  him  from  proceeding.  The 
Schoolmaster's  hair  bristled  on  his  brow.  What  could  be — would 
be — that  fate,  which  even  his  executioner  pitied? 

"  The  fate  that  awaits  you  is  so  horrible/'  resumed  Eodolph, 
"  that,  if  the  Almighty,  in  His  inexorable  and  all-powerful 
vengeance,  would  make  you  in  your  person  expiate  all  the  crimes 
of  all  mankind,  He  could  not  devise  a  more  fearful  punishment! 
Ah,  woe  for  you ! — woe  for  you !  " 

At  this  moment  the  Schoolmaster  uttered  a  piercing  shriek, 
and  awoke  with  a  bound  at  this  horrid,  frightful  dream. 


348  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PAEIS. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE  LETTER. 

THE  hour  of  nine  had  struck  on  the  Bouqueval  clock,  when 
Madame  Georges  softly  entered  the  chamber  of  Fleur-de-Marie. 
The  light  slumber  of  the  young  girl  was  quickly  broken,  and 
she  awoke  to  find  her  kind  friend  standing  by  her  bedside.  A 
brilliant  winter's  sun  darted  its  rays  through  the  blinds  and 
chintz  window-curtains,  the  pink  linings  of  which  cast  a  bright 
glow  on  the  pale  countenance  of  La  Goualeuse,  giving  it  the 
look  of  health  it  so  greatly  needed. 

"  Well,  my  child,"  said  Madame  Georges,  sitting  down  and 
gently  kissing  her  forehead,  "  how  are  you  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Much  better,  madame,  I  thank  you." 

"  I  hope  you  were  not  awoke  very  early  this  morning  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  madame." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it :  the  blind  man  and  his  son,  who  were  per- 
mitted to  sleep  here  last  night,  insisted  upon  quitting  the  farm 
immediately  it  was  light,  and  I  was  fearful  that  the  noise  made 
in  opening  the  gates  might  have  woke  you." 

"  Poor  things !  why  did  they  go  so  very  early  ?  " 

"  I  know  not.  After  you  became  more  calm  and  comfortable 
last  night  I  went  down  into  the  kitchen,  for  the  purpose  of  seeing 
them,  but  they  had  pleaded  extreme  weariness,  and  begged  per- 
mission to  retire.  Father  Chatelain  tells  me  the  blind  man  does 
not  seem  very  right  in  his  head ;  and  the  whole  body  of  servants 
were  unanimous  in  praising  the  tenderness  and  care  with  which 
the  boy  attended  upon  his  blind  parent.  But  now,  my  dear 
Marie,  listen  to  me:  you  must  not  expose  yourself  to  the  risk 
of  taking  fresh  cold  after  the  attack  of  fever  you  suffered  from 
last  night,  and,  therefore,  I  recommend  your  keeping  quite  quiet 
all  day,  and  not  leaving  the  parlor  at  all." 

"Nay,  madame,  I  have  promised  M.  le  Cure  to  be  at  th< 
rectory  at  five  o'clock;  pray  allow  me  to  go,  as  I  am  expected.' 

"Indeed  I  cannot,  it  would  be  very  imprudent;  I  can  per 
ceive  you  have  passed  a  very  bad  night,  your  eyes  are  quit 
heavy." 

"I  have  not  been  able  to  rest,  through  the  most  frightfi 
dreams  which  pursued  me  whenever  I  tried  to  sleep.  I  fancie 
myself  in  the  power  of  a  wicked  woman  who  used  to  torment 


THE  LETTER.  349 

most  cruelly  when  I  was  a  child;  and  I  kept  starting  up  in  dread 
and  alarm.  I  am  ashamed  of  such  silly  weakness  as  to  allow 
dreams  to  frighten  me,  but,  indeed,  I  suffered  so  much  during 
the  night  that  when  I  awoke  my  pillow  was  wetted  with  my 
tears." 

"  I  am  truly  sorry  for  this  weakness,  as  you  justly  style  it,  my 
dear  child,"  said  Madame  Georges,  with  affectionate  concern, 
seeing  the  eyes  of  Fleur-de-Marie  again  filling  fast,  "  because  I 
perceive  the  pain  it  occasions  you." 

The  poor  girl,  overpowered  by  her  feelings,  threw  her  arms 
round  the  neck  of  her  adopted  mother  and  buried  her  sobs  in 
her  bosom. 

"Marie — Marie!  my  child,  you  terrify  me:  why — why  is 
this?" 

"  Pardon  me,  dear  madame,  I  beseech  you !  Indeed  I  know 
not  myself  what  has  come  over  me,  but  for  the  last  two  days  my 
heart  has  seemed  full  almost  to  bursting.  I  cannot  restrain  my 
tears,  though  I  know  not  wherefore  I  weep.  A  fearful  dread  of 
some  great  evil  about  to  befall  me  weighs  down  my  spirits  and 
resists  every  attempt  to  shake  it  off." 

"  Come !  come !  I  shall  scold  you  in  earnest  if  you  thus  give 
way  to  imaginary  terrors." 

At  this  moment  Claudine,  whose  previous  tap  at  the  door  had 
been  unheard,  entered  the  room. 

"What  is  it,  Claudine?" 

"  Madame,  Pierre  has  just  arrived  from  Arnouville,  in  Ma- 
dame Dubreuil's  chaise :  he  brings  a  letter  for  you,  which  he  says 
is  of  great  importance." 

Madame  Georges  took  the  paper  from  Claudine's  hand,  opened 
it,  and  read  as  follows : — 

"  MY  DEAR  MADAME  GEORGES, 

"  You  could  do  me  a  considerable  favor,  and  assist  me  under 
very  perplexing  circumstances,  by  hastening  to  the  farm  here 
without  delay.  Pierre  has  orders  to  wait  till  you  are  ready,  and 
will  drive  you  back  after  dinner.  I  really  am  in  such  confusion 
that  I  hardly  know  what  I  am  about.  M.  Dubreuil  has  gone  to 
the  wool-fair  at  Pontoise;  I  have,  therefore,  no  one  to  turn  to 
for  advice  and  assistance  but  you  and  Marie.  Clara  sends 
her  best  love  to  her  very  dear  adopted  sister,  and  anxiously 
expects  her  arrival.  Try  to  be  with  us  by  eleven  o'clock,  to 
luncheon. 

"Ever  yours  most  sincerely, 

"  F.  DOBREOIL." 


350 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 


"What  can  possibly  be  the  matter?"  asked  Madame  Georges 
of  Fleur-de-Marie ;  "  fortunately  the  tone  of  Madame  Dubreuil's 
letter  is  not  calculated  to  cause  alarm." 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  accompany  you,  madame?"  asked  the 
Goualeuse. 

"  Why  that  would  scarcely  be  prudent,  so  cold  as  it  is.  But, 
upon  second  thoughts,"  continued  Madame  Georges,  "  I  think 
you  may  venture  if  you  wrap  yourself  up  very  warm;  it  will 
serve  to  raise  your  spirits,  and  possibly  the  short  ride  may  do 
you  good." 

The  Goualeuse  did  not  immediately  reply,  but,  after  a  few 
minutes'  consideration,  she  ventured  to  say, — 

"  But,  madame,  M.  le  Cure  expects  me  this  evening,  at  five 
o'clock,  at  the  rectory." 

"  But  I  promise  you  to  be  back  in  good  time  for  you  to  keep 
your  engagement :  now  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  madame !  Indeed,  I  shall  be  so  delighted  to 
see  Mademoiselle  Clara." 

"  What !  again  ?  "  uttered  Madame  Georges,  in  a  tone  of  gentle 
reproach.  "MADEMOISELLE  Clara?  She  does  not  speak  so 
distantly  to  you  when  she  addresses  you." 

"  Oh,  no,  madame ! "  replied  the  poor  girl,  casting  down  her 
eyes,  while  a  bright  flush  rose  even  to  her  temples ;  "  but  there  is 
so  great  a  difference  between  us  that " 

"  Dear  Marie !  you  are  cruel  and  unkind  thus  needlessly  to 
torment  yourself.  Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  how  I  chided  you 
but  just  now  for  the  very  same  fault?  There,  drive  away  all 
such  foolish  thoughts !  dress  yourself  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and 
pray  wrap  up  very  carefully.  If  we  are  quick,  we  may  reach 
Arnouville  before  eleven  o'clock." 

Then,  leaving  Fleur-de-Marie  to  perform  the  duties  of  her 
simple  toilette,  Madame  Georges  retired  to  her  own  chamber, 
first  dismissing  Claudine  with  an  intimation  to  Pierre  that  her- 
self and  niece  would  be  ready  to  start  almost  immediately. 

Half-an-hour  afterwards,  Madame  Georges  and  Marie  were  on 
their  way  to  Arnouville  in  one  of  those  large,  roomy  cabriolets 
in  use  among  the  rich  farmers  in  the  environs  of  Paris;  and 
briskly  did  their  comfortable  vehicle,  drawn  by  a  stout  Norman 
horse,  roll  over  the  grassy  road  which  led  from  Bouqueval  to 
Arnouville.  The  extensive  buildings  and  numerous  appendages 
to  the  farm  tenanted  by  M.  Dubreuil  in  the  latter  village  bore 
testimony  to  the  wealth  and  importance  of  the  property  bestowed 
as  a  marriage-portion  on  Mademoiselle  Cesarine  de  Noirmont 
upon  her  union  with  the  Duke  de  Lucenay. 


THE  LETTER.  351 

The  loud  crack  of  Pierre's  whip  apprised  Madame  Dubreuil  of 
the  arrival  of  her  friend  Madame  Georges  with  Fleur-de-Marie, 
who  were  most  affectionately  greeted  by  Clara  and  her  mother. 
Madame  Dubreuil  was  a  good-looking  woman  of  middle  age, 
with  a  countenance  expressive  of  extreme  gentleness  and  kind- 
ness; while  her  daughter  Clara  was  a  handsome  brunette,  with 
rich  hazel  eyes,  and  a  happy,  innocent  expression  forever  resting 
on  her  full  rosy  lips,  which  seemed  never  to  open  but  to  utter 
words  of  sweetness  and  amiability.  As  Clara  eagerly  threw  her 
arms  round  her  friend's  neck  as  she  descended  the  vehicle,  the 
Goualeuse  saw  with  extreme  surprise  that  the  kind-hearted  girl 
had  laid  aside  her  more  fashionable  attire  and  was  habited  as  a 
simple  country-maiden. 

"  Why,  Clara ! "  said  Madame  Georges,  affectionately  return- 
ing her  embrace,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  strange 
costume  ?  " 

"  It  is  done  in  imitation  and  admiration  of  her  sister  Marie," 
answered  Madame  Dubreuil ;  "  I  assure  you  she  let  me  have  no 
peace  till  I  had  procured  her  a  woolen  bodice  and  a  fustian  skirt 
exactly  resembling  your  Marie's.  But,  now  we  are  talking  of 
whims  and  caprices,  just  come  this  way  with  me,"  added  Ma- 
dame Dubreuil,  drawing  a  deep  sigh,  "while  I  explain  to  you 
my  present  difficulty,  as  well  as  the  cause  of  my  so  abruptly  sum- 
moning you  hither;  but  you  are  so  kind,  I  feel  assured  you  will 
not  only  forgive  it,  but  also  render  me  all  the  assistance  I 
require." 

Following  Madame  Georges  and  her  mother  to  their  sitting- 
room,  Clara  lovingly  conducted  the  Goualeuse  also  thither,  plac- 
ing her  in  the  warmest  corner  of  the  fireside,  and  tenderly 
chafing  her  hands  to  prevent  the  cold  from  affecting  her;  then 
fondly  caressing  her,  and  styling  her  again  and  again  her  very 
dear  sister  Marie,  she  playfully  reproached  her  for  allowing  so 
long  an  interval  to  pass  away  without  paying  her  a  visit.  After 
the  recent  conversation  which  passed  between  the  poor  Goualeuse 
and  the  cure  (no  doubt  fresh  in  the  reader's  memory),  it  will 
easily  be  believed  that  these  tender  marks  of  affection  inspired 
the  unfortunate  girl  with  feelings  of  deep  humility,  combined 
with  a  timid  joy. 

"  Now,  then,  dear  Madame  Dubreuil,"  said  Madame  Georges, 
when  they  were  comfortably  seated,  "  do  pray  tell  me  what 
has  happened,  and  in  what  manner  I  can  be  serviceable  to 
you." 

"  Oh,  in  several  ways !  I  will  tell  you  exactly  how :  in  the 
first  place,  I  believe  you  are  not  aware  that  this  farm  is  the 


352  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

private  property  of  the  Duchesse  de  Lucenay,  and  that  we  are 
accountable  to  her  alone,  having  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
the  duke  or  his  steward/' 

"  No,  indeed,  I  never  heard  that  before." 

"  Neither  should  I  have  troubled  you  with  so  unimportant  a 
matter  now,  but  that  it  forms  a  necessary  part  of  the  explanation 
I  am  about  to  give  you  of  my  present  pressing  need  of  your  kind 
services.  You  must  know,  then,  that  we  consider  ourselves  as 
the  tenants  of  Madame  de  Lucenay,  and  always  pay  our  rent 
either  to  herself  or  to  Madame  Simon  her  head  femme  de 
chambre;  and  really,  spite  of  some  little  impetuosity  of  temper, 
Madame  la  Duchesse  is  so  amiable,  that  it  is  delightful  to  have 
business  with  her.  Dubreuil  and  T  would  go  through  fire  and 
water  to  serve  her :  but,  la !  that  is  only  natural,  considering  we 
have  known  her  from  her  very  cradle,  and  were  accustomed  to  see 
her  playing  about  as  a  child  during  the  visits  she  used  annually 
to  pay  to  the  estate  during  the  lifetime  of  her  late  father,  the 
Prince  de  Noirmont.  Latterly  she  has  asked  for  her  rent  in 
advance :  forty  thousand  francs  is  not  '  picked  up  by  the  road- 
side/ as  the  old  proverb  says;  but  happily  we  had  laid  that  sum 
by  as  Clara's  dowry;  and  the  very  next  morning  after  the  request 
reached  us  we  carried  madame  her  money  in  bright,  shining, 
golden  louis.  These  great  ladies  spend  so  much,  you  see,  in 
luxuries,  such  as  you  and  I  have  no  idea  of.  Yet  it  is  only 
within  the  last  twelvemonth  Madame  de  Lucenay  has  wished  to 
be  paid  beforehand,  she  used  always  to  seem  as  though  she  had 
plenty  of  money;  but  things  are  very  different  now." 

"  Still,  my  dear  Madame  Dubreuil,  I  do  not  yet  perceive  in 
what  way  I  can  possibly  assist  you." 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry !  I  am  just  coming  to  that  part  of  my 
story;  but  I  was  obliged  to  tell  you  all  this  that  you  might  be 
able  to  understand  the  entire  confidence  M.  la  Duchesse  places 
in  us :  to  be  sure,  she  showed  her  great  regard  for  us  by  becom- 
ing, when  only  thirteen  years  of  age,  Clara's  godmother,  her 
noble  father  standing  as  the  other  sponsor;  and,  ever  since, 
Madame  de  Lucenay  has  loaded  her  godchild  with  presents  and 
kind  attentions.  But  I  must  not  keep  you — I  see  you  are  im- 
patient; so  I  will  at  once  proceed  with  the  business  part  of  my 
tale.  You  must  know,  then,  that  last  night  I  received  by  express 
the  following  letter  from  Madame  de  Lucenay : — 

" '  MY  DEAR  MADAME  DUBREUIL, 

" '  You  must  prepare  the  small  pavilion  in  the  orchard  for 
occupation  by  to-morrow  evening.  Send  there  all  the  requisite 


THE  LETTER.  353 

furniture,  such  as  carpets,  curtains,  etc.,  etc.     Let  nothing  be 
wanted  to  render  it,  in  every  respect,  as  comfortable  as  possible.' 

"  Do  you  mark  the  word  comfortable,  Madame  Georges  ? " 
inquired  Madame  Dubreuil,  pausing  in  the  midst  of  her  reading ; 
"  it  is  even  underlined."  Then  looking  up  at  her  friend  with  a 
thoughtful,  puzzled  expression  of  countenance,  and  receiving  no 
answer,  she  continued  the  perusal  of  her  letter: — 

" l  It  is  so  long  since  the  pavilion  has  been  used  that  it  will 
require  large  and  constant  fires  both  night  and  day  to  remove  the 
dampness  from  the  walls.  I  wish  you  to  behave  in  every  respect 
to  the  person  who  will  occupy  the  apartments  as  you  would  do 
to  myself.  And  you  will  receive  by  the  hands  of  the  new  visitant 
a  letter  from  me  explanatory  of  all  I  expect  from  your  well- 
known  zeal  and  attachment.  I  depend  entirely  on  you,  and  feel 
every  assurance  that  I  may  safely  reckon  on  your  fidelity  and 
desire  to  serve  me.  Adieu,  my  dear  Madame  Dubreuil :  remem- 
ber me  most  kindly  to  my  pretty  goddaughter;  and  believe  me 
ever, 

'"Yours,  sincerely  and  truly, 

"  '  NOIRMONT  DE  LUCENAY. 

"'P.S.  The  person  whom  I  so  strongly  recommend  to  your 
best  care  and  attention  will  arrive  the  day  after  to-morrow,  about 
dusk.  Pray  do  your  very  utmost  to  render  the  pavilion  as  com- 
fortable as  you  possibly  can/  " 

"  Comfortable  again,  you  see,  and  underlined  as  before,"  said 
Madame  Dubreuil,  returning  the  letter  of  Madame  de  Lucenay 
to  her  pocket. 

"Well,"  replied  Madame  Georges,  "all  this  is  simple 
enough ! " 

"  How  do  you  mean,  simple  enough  ?  you  cannot  have  heard 
me  read  the  letter.  Madame  la  Duchesse  wishes  particularly 
'  that  the  pavilion  should  be  rendered  as  comfortaUe  as  possible/ 
Now  that  is  the  very  reason  of  my  asking  you  to  come  to  me 
to-day;  Clara  and  I  have  been  knocking  our  heads  together  in 
vain  to  discover  what  comfortable  can  possibly  mean,  but  without 
being  able  to  find  it  out.  Yet  it  seems  odd,  too,  that  Clara 
should  not  know  its  meaning,  for  she  was  several  years  at  school 
at  Villiers  le  Bel,  and  gained  a  quantity  of  prizes  for  history  and 
geography;  however,  she  knows  as  little  as  I  do  about  that  out- 
landish word.  I  dare  say  it  is  only  known  at  court,  or  in  the 
fashionable  world.  However,  be  that  as  it  may,  Madame  la 


354  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

Duchesse  has  thrown  me  into  a  pretty  fuss  by  making  use  of  it ; 
she  says,  and  you  see  twice  repeats  the  words,  and  even  under- 
lines it,  '  that  she  requests  I  will  furnish  the  pavilion  as  com- 
fortably as  possible.'  Now  what  are  we  to  do  when  we  have  not 
the  slightest  notion  of  the  meaning  of  that  word  ?  " 

"  Well,  Heaven  be  praised,  then,  that  I  can  relieve  your  per- 
plexity by  solving  this  grand  mystery !  "  said  Madame  Georges, 
smiling.  "  Upon  the  present  occasion  the  word  comfortable 
merely  means  an  assemblage  of  neat,  well-chosen,  well-arranged, 
and  convenient  furniture,  so  placed,  in  apartments  well  warmed 
and  protected  from  cold  or  damp,  that  the  occupant  shall  find 
everything  that  is  necessary  combined  with  articles  that  to  some 
might  seem  superfluities/' 

"  Thank  you :  I  perfectly  understand  what  comfortable  means 
as  regards  furnishing  apartments;  but  your  explanation  only 
increases  my  difficulties." 

"How  so?" 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse  speaks  of  carpets,  furniture,  and  many 
et-cceteras;  now  we  have  no  carpets  here,  and  our  furniture  is  of 
the  most  homely  description.  Neither  can  I  make  out  by  the 
letter  whether  the  person  I  am  to  expect  is  a  male  or  female; 
and  yet  everything  must  be  prepared  by  to-morrow  evening. 
What  shall  I  do?  What  can  I  do?  I  can  get  nothing  here. 
Really,  Madame  Georges,  it  is  enough  to  drive  one  wild  to  be 
placed  in  such  an  awkward  situation." 

"  But,  mother,"  said  Clara,  "  suppose  you  take  the  furniture 
out  of  my  room,  and  whilst  you  are  refurnishing  it  I  will  go 
and  pass  a  few  days  with  dear  Marie  at  Bouqueval." 

"  My  dear  child,  what  nonsense  you  talk !  as  if  the  humble 
fittings-up  of  your  chamber  could  equal  what  Madame  la  Du- 
chesse means  by  the  word  comfortable,"  returned  Madame  Du- 
breuil,  with  a  disconsolate  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "  Lord ! 
Lord!  why  will  fine  ladies  puzzle  poor  folks  like  me  by  going 
out  of  their  way  to  find  such  expressions  as  comfortable?" 

"Then  I  presume  the  pavilion  in  question  is  ordinarily  un- 
inhabited ?  "  said  Madame  Georges. 

"  Oh,  yes !  There,  you  see  that  small  white  building  at  the 
end  of  the  orchard — that  is  it.  The  late  Prince  de  Noirmont, 
father  of  Madame  la  Duchesse,  caused  it  to  be  built  for  his 
daughter  when,  in  her  youthful  days,  she  was  accustomed  to 
visit  the  farm,  and  she  then  occupied  it.  There  are  three  pretty 
chambers  in  it,  and  a  beautiful  little  Swiss  dairy  at  the  end  of 
the  garden,  where,  in  her  childish  days,  Madame  la  Duchesse 
used  to  divert  herself  with  feigning  to  manage.  Since  her 


THE  LETTER.  355 

marriage,  she  has  only  been  twice  at  the  farm,  but  each  time  she 
passed  several  hours  in  the  pavilion.  The  first  time  was  about 

six  years  ago,  and  then  she  came  on  horseback  with "  Then, 

as  though  the  presence  of  Clara  and  Fleur-de-Marie  prevented 
her  from  saying  more,  Madame  Dubreuil  interrupted  herself  by 
saying,  "  But  I  am  talking  instead  of  doing;  and  that  is  not  the 
way  to  get  out  of  my  present  difficulty.  Come,  dear,  good  Ma- 
dame Georges,  and  help  a  poor  bewildered  creature  like  myself !  " 

"  In  the  first  place,"  answered  Madame  Georges,  "  tell  me 
how  is  this  pavilion  furnished  at  the  present  moment." 

"  Oh,  scarcely  at  all !  In  the  principal  apartment  there  is  a 
straw  matting  on  the  center  of  the  floor;  a  sofa,  and  a  few  arm- 
chairs composed  of  rushes,  a  table,  and  some  chairs,  comprise 
all  the  inventory,  which,  I  think  you  will  allow,  falls  far  short 
of  the  word  comfortable." 

"  Well,  I  tell  you  what  I  should  do  in  your  place.  Let  me  see ; 
it  is  eleven  o'clock.  I  should  send  a  person  on  whom  you  can 
depend  to  Paris." 

"  Our  overseer!  *  There  cannot  be  a  more  active,  intelligent 
person." 

"  Exactly !  just  the  right  sort  of  messenger.  Well,  in  two 
hours,  at  the  utmost,  he  may  be  in  Paris.  Let  him  go  to  some 
upholsterer  in  the  Chaussee  d'Antin — never  mind  which — and 
give  him  the  list  I  will  draw  out,  after  I  have  seen  what  is  want- 
ing for  the  pavilion ;  and  let  him  be  directed  to  say  that,  let  the 
expense  be  what  it  may " 

"  I  don't  care  about  expense,  if  I  can  but  satisfy  the  duch- 
ess." 

"The  upholsterer,  then,  must  be  told  that,  at  any  cost,  he 
must  see  that  every  article  named  in  the  list  be  sent  here  either 
this  evening  or  before  daybreak  to-morrow,  with  three  or  four 
of  his  most  clever  and  active  workmen  to  arrange  them  as  quickly 
as  possible." 

"They  might  come  by  the  Gonesse  diligence,  which  leaves 
Paris  at  eight  o'clock  every  evening/' 

"  And  as  they  would  only  have  to  place  the  furniture,  lay 
down  carpets,  and  put  up  curtains,  all  that  could  easily  be  done 
by  to-morrow  evening." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Madame  Georges,  what  a  load  you  have  taken 
off  my  mind !  I  should  never  have  thought  of  this  simple  yet 
proper  manner  of  proceeding.  You  are  the  saving  of  me !  Now, 
may  I  ask  you  to  be  so  kind  as  draw  me  out  the  list  of  articles 

*  A  Species  of  overseer  employed  in  most  of  the  large  farming  estab- 
lishments in  the  environs  of  Paris. 


356  THB  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

necessary  to  render  the  pavilion What  is  that  hard  word? 

1  never  can  recollect  it." 

"  Comfortable !  Yes,  I  will  at  once  set  about  it,  and  with 
pleasure." 

"  Dear  me !  here  is  another  difficulty.  Don't  you  see,  we  are 
not  told  whether  to  expect  a  lady  or  a  gentleman?  Madame  de 
Lucenay,  in  her  letter,  only  says  '  a  person.'  It  is  very  perplex- 
ing, isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Then  make  your  preparations  as  if  for  a  lady,  my  dear 
Madame  Dubreuil ;  and,  should  it  turn  out  a  gentleman,  why  he 
will  only  have  better  reason  to  be  pleased  with  his  accom- 
modations." 

"  Quite  right ; — right  again,  as  you  always  are." 

A  servant  here  announced  that  breakfast  was  ready. 

"  Let  breakfast  wait  a  little,"  said  Madame  Georges.  "  And, 
while  I  draw  out  the  necessary  list,  send  some  person  you  can 
depend  upon  to  take  the  exact  height  and  width  of  the  three 
rooms,  that  the  curtains  and  carpets  may  more  easily  be 
prepared." 

"  Thank  you.  I  will  set  our  overseer  to  work  out  this  com- 
mission." 

"  Madame,"  continued  the  servant,  speaking  to  her  mistress, 
"  the  new  dairy-woman  from  Stains  is  here,  with  her  few  goods 
in  a  small  cart  drawn  by  a  donkey.  The  beast  has  not  a  heavy 
load  to  complain  of,  for  the  poor  body's  luggage  seems  but  very 
trifling." 

"  Poor  woman  !  "  said  Madame  Dubreuil,  kindly. 

"  What  woman  is  it?  "  inquired  Madame  Georges. 

"A  poor  creature  from  Stains,  who  once  had  four  cows  of 
her  own,  and  used  to  go  every  morning  to  Paris  to  sell  her  milk. 
Her  husband  was  a  blacksmith,  and  one  day  accompanied  her  to 
Paris  to  purchase  some  iron  he  required  for  his  work,  agreeing 
to  rejoin  her  at  the  corner  of  the  street  where  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  sell  her  milk.  Unhappily,  as  it  afterwards  turned  out, 
the  poor  woman  had  selected  a  very  bad  part  of  Paris ;  for,  when 
her  husband  returned,  he  found  her  in  the  midst  of  a  set  of 
wicked,  drunken  fellows,  who  had,  for  mere  mischief's  sake,  upset 
all  her  milk  into  the  gutter.  The  poor  blacksmith  tried  to  reason 
with  them  upon  the  score  of  their  unfair  conduct,  but  that  only 
made  matters  worse;  they  all  fell  on  the  husband,  who  sought  in 
vain  to  defend  himself  from  their  violence.  The  end  of  the 
story  is,  that,  in  the  scuffle  which  ensued,  the  man  received  a  stab 
with  a  knife,  which  stretched  him  a  corpse  before  the  eyes  of  his 
distracted  wife." 


THE  LETTER.  357 

"  Dreadful,  indeed !  "  ejaculated  Madame  Georges.  "  But,  at 
least,  the  murderer  was  apprehended  ?  " 

"  Alas,  no !  He  managed  to  make  his  escape  during  the  con- 
fusion which  ensued,  though  the  unfortunate  widow  asserts  she 
should  recognize  him  at  any  minute  she  might  meet  him,  having 
repeatedly  seen  him  in  company  with  his  associates,  inhabitants 
of  that  neighborhood.  However,  up  to  the  present  hour  all 
attempts  to  discover  him  have  been  useless.  But,  to  end  my  tale, 
I  must  tell  you  that,  in  consequence  of  the  death  of  her  husband, 
the  poor  widow  was  compelled,  in  order  to  pay  various  debts  he 
had  contracted,  to  sell,  not  only  her  cows,  but  some  little  land  he 
possessed.  The  bailiff  of  the  chateau  at  Stains  recommended 
the  poor  creature  to  me  as  a  most  excellent  and  honest  woman,  as 
deserving  as  she  was  unfortunate,  having  three  children  to  pro- 
vide for,  the  eldest  not  yet  twelve  years  of  age.  I  happened,  just 
then,  to  be  in  want  of  a  first-rate  dairy-woman,  therefore  offered 
her  the  place,  which  she  gladly  accepted,  and  she  has  now  come 
to  take  up  her  abode  on  the  farm." 

"This  act  of  real  kindness  on  your  part,  my  dear  Madame 
Dubreuil,  does  not  surprise  me,  knowing  you  as  well  as 
I  do." 

"  Here,  Clara,"  said  Madame  Dubreuil,  as  though  seeking  to 
escape  from  the  praises  of  her  friend,  "  will  you  go  and  show 
this  good  woman  the  way  to  the  lodge  she  is  to  occupy,  while  I 
hasten  to  explain  to  our  overseer  the  necessity  for  his  immediate 
departure  for  Paris?" 

"  Willingly,  dear  mother !  Marie  can  come  with  me,  can  she 
not?" 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Madame  Dubreuil,  "  if  she  pleases." 
Then  added  smilingly,  "  I  wonder  whether  you  two  girls  could 
do  one  without  the  other?  " 

"  And  now,"  said  Madame  Georges,  seating  herself  before  a 
table,  "  I  will  at  once  begin  my  part  of  the  business,  that  no  time 
may  be  lost;  for  we  must  positively  return  to  Bouqueval  at  four 
o'clock." 

"  Dear  me !  "  exclaimed  Madame  Dubreuil ;  "  how  early ! 
Why,  what  makes  you  in  such  a  hurry  ?  " 

"  Marie  is  obliged  to  be  at  the  rectory  by  five  o'clock." 

"  Oh,  if  her  return  relates  to  that  good  Abbe  Laporte,  I  am 
sure  it  is  a  sacred  duty,  with  which  I  would  not  interfere  for  the 
world.  Well,  then,  I  will  go  and  give  the  necessary  orders  for 
everything  being  punctual  to  that  hour.  Those  two  girls  have 
so  much  to  say  to  each  other,  that  we  must  give  them  as  much 
time  as  we  can." 


358  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Then  we  shall  leave  you  at  three  o'clock,  my  dear  Madame 
Dubreuil?" 

"  Yes ;  I  promise  not  to  detain  you,  since  you  so  positively 
wish  it.  But  pray  let  me  thank  you  again  and  again  for  coming. 
What  a  good  thing  it  was  I  thought  of  sending  to  ask  your  kind 
assistance !  "  rejoined  Madame  Dubreuil.  "  Now  then,  Clara  and 
Marie,  off  with  you !  " 

As  Madame  Georges  settled  herself  to  her  writing,  Madame 
Dubreuil  quitted  the  room  by  a  door  on  one  side,  while  the  young 
friends,  in  company  with  the  servant  who  had  announced  the 
arrival  of  the  milkwoman  from  Stains,  went  out  by  the  opposite 
side. 

"  Where  is  the  poor  woman  ?  "  inquired  Clara. 

"  There  she  is,  mademoiselle,  in  the  courtyard,  near  the  barns, 
with  her  children  and  her  little  donkey-cart." 

"  You  shall  see  her,  dear  Marie,"  said  Clara,  taking  the  arm 
of  La  Goualeuse.  "  Poor  woman !  she  looks  so  pale  and  sad  in 
her  deep  widow's  mourning.  The  last  time  she  came  here  to 
arrange  with  my  mother  about  the  place,  she  made  my  heart 
ache.  She  wept  bitterly  as  she  spoke  of  her  husband;  then 
suddenly  burst  into  a  fit  of  rage  as  she  mentioned  his  murderer. 
Eeally,  she  quite  frightened  me,  she  looked  so  desperate  and 
full  of  fury.  But,  after  all,  her  resentment  was  natural.  Poor 
thing !  I  am  sure  I  pity  her ;  some  people  are  very  unfortunate, 
are  they  not,  Marie  ?  " 

"  Alas,  yes,  they  are,  indeed ! "  replied  the  Goualeuse,  sighing 
deeply.  "  There  are  some  persons  who  appear  born  only  to 
trouble  and  sorrow,  as  you  justly  observe,  Miss  Clara." 

"  This  is  really  very  unkind  of  you,  Marie,"  said  Clara,  color- 
ing with  impatience  and  displeasure.  "  This  is  the  second  time 
to-day  you  have  called  me  '  Miss  Clara.'  What  can  I  have 
possibly  done  to  offend  you  ?  For  I  am  sure  you  must  be  angry 
with  me,  or  you  would  not  do  what  you  know  vexes  me  so  very 
much." 

"  How  is  it  possible  that  you  could  ever  offend  me  ?  " 

"  Then  why  do  you  say  '  miss  ? '  You  know  very  well  that 
both  Madame  Georges  and  my  mother  have  both  scolded  you 
for  doing  it.  And  I  give  you  due  warning,  if  ever  you  repeat 
this  great  offense,  I  will  have  you  well  scolded  again.  Now,  then, 
will  you  be  good  or  not  ?  Speak !  " 

"  Dear  Clara,  pray  pardon  me !  Indeed,  I  was  not  thinking 
when  I  spoke." 

"  Not  thinking !  "  repeated  Clara,  sorrowfully.  "  What !  after 
eight  long  days'  absence  you  cannot  give  me  your  attention  even 


THE  LETTKX.  359 

for  five  minutes  ?  Not  thinking !  That  would  be  bad  enough  ; 
but  that  is  not  it,  Marie.  And  I  tell  you  what,  it  is  my  belief 
you  are  too  proud  to  own  so  humble  a  friend  as  myself." 

Fleur-de-Marie  made  no  answer,  but  her  whole  countenance 
assumed  the  pallor  of  death. 

A  woman,  dressed  as  a  widow,  and  in  deep  mourning,  had  just 
caught  sight  of  her,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  rage  and  horror  which 
seemed  to  freeze  the  poor  girl's  blood.  This  woman  was  the 
person  who  supplied  the  Goualeuse  with  her  daily  milk,  during 
the  time  the  latter  dwelt  with  the  ogress  at  the  tapis-franc. 

The  scene  which  ensued  took  place  in  one  of  the  yards  belong- 
ing to  the  farm,  in  the  presence  of  all  the  laborers,  both  male 
and  female,  who  chanced  just  then  to  be  returning  to  the  house 
to  take  their  midday  meal.  Beneath  a  shed  stood  a  small  cart, 
drawn  by  a  donkey,  and  containing  the  few  household  possessions 
of  the  widow :  a  boy  of  about  twelve  years  of  age,  aided  by  two 
younger  children,  was  beginning  to  unload  the  vehicle.  The 
milkwoman  herself  was  a  woman  of  about  forty  years  of  age, 
her  countenance  coarse,  masculine,  and  expressive  of  great  reso- 
lution. She  was,  as  we  before  stated,  attired  in  the  deepest 
mourning,  and  her  eyelids  looked  red  and  inflamed  with  recent 
weeping.  Her  first  impulse  at  the  sight  of  the  Goualeuse  had 
been  terror;  but  quickly  did  that  feeling  change  into  grief  and 
rage,  while  the  most  violent  anger  contracted  her  features. 
Rapidly  darting  towards  the  unhappy  girl,  she  seized  her  by  the 
arm,  and,  presenting  her  to  the  gaze  of  the  farm-servants,  she 
exclaimed, — 

"  Here  is  a  creature  who  is  acquainted  with  the  assassin  of  my 
poor  husband !  I  have  seen  her  more  than  twenty  times  speak- 
ing to  the  ruffian  when  I  was  selling  my  milk  at  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  de  la  Vieille-Draperie ;  she  used  to  come  to  buy  a  ha'- 
porth  every  morning.  She  knows  well  enough  who  it  was  struck 
the  blow  that  made  me  a  widow,  and  my  poor  children  father- 
less. '  Birds  of  a  feather  flock  together,  and  such  loose  char- 
acters as  she  is  are  sure  to  be  linked  in  with  thieves  and  mur- 
derers. Oh,  you  shall  not  escape  me,  you  abandoned  wretch ! " 
cried  the  milkwoman,  who  had  now  lashed  herself  into  a  per- 
fect fury,  and  who,  seeing  poor  Fleur-de-Marie  confused  and 
terror-stricken  at  this  sudden  attack,  endeavoring  to  escape  from 
it  by  flight,  grasped  her  fiercely  by  the  other  arm  also.  Clara, 
almost  speechless  with  surprise  and  alarm  at  this  outrageous 
conduct,  had  been  quite  incapable  of  interfering;  but  this  in- 
creased violence  on  the  part  of  the  widow  seemed  to  restore  her 
to  herself,  and  angrily  addressing  the  woman  she  said, — 


360  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  improper  behavior?  Are  you 
out  of  your  senses  ?  Has  grief  turned  your  brain  ?  Good  woman, 
I  pity  you !  But  let  us  pass  on ;  you  are  mistaken." 

"Mistaken!"  repeated  the  woman,  with  a  bitter  smile;  "me 
mistaken !  No,  no,  there  is  no  mistake !  Just  look  at  her  pale, 
guilty  looks !  Hark  how  her  very  teeth  rattle  in  her  head  !  Ah, 
she  knows  well  enough  there  is  no  mistake !  Ah,  you  may  hold 
your  wicked  tongue  if  you  like;  but  justice  will  find  a  way  to 
make  you  speak.  You  shall  go  with  me  before  the  mayor;  do 
you  hear?  Oh,  it  is  not  worth  while  resisting!  I  have  good 
strong  wrists;  I  can  hold  you.  And,  sooner  than  you  should 
escape,  I  would  carry  you  every  step  of  the  way." 

"  You  good-for-nothing,  insolent  -woman  !  how  dare  you  pre- 
sume to  speak  in  this  way  to  my  dear  friend  and  sister?" 

"  Your  sister,  Mademoiselle  Clara !  Believe  me,  it  is  you 
who  are  deceived — it  is  you  who  have  lost  your  senses,"  bawled 
.the  enraged  milkwoman,  in  a  loud,  coarse  voice.  "  Your  sister ! 
A  likely  story  a  girl  out  of  the  streets,  who  was  the  companion 
of  the  very  lowest  wretches  in  the  worst  part  of  the  Cite,  should 
be  a  sister  of  yours ! " 

At  these  words  the  assembled  laborers,  who  naturally  enough 
took  that  part  in  the  affair  which  concerned  a  person  of  their 
own  class,  and  who  really  sympathized  with  the  bereaved  milk- 
woman,  gave  utterance  to  deep,  threatening  words,  in  which  the 
name  of  Fleur-de-Marie  was  angrily  mingled.  The  three  chil- 
dren, hearing  their  mother  speaking  in  a  loud  tone,  and  fearing 
they  knew  not  what,  ran  to  her,  and,  clinging  to  her  dress, 
burst  out  into  a  loud  fit  of  weeping.  The  sight  of  these  poor 
little  fatherless  things,  dressed  also  in  deep  mourning,  increased 
the  pity  of  the  spectators  for  the  unfortunate  widow,  while  it  re- 
doubled their  indignation  against  Fleur-de-Marie;  while  Clara, 
completely  frightened  by  these  demonstrations  of  approaching 
violence,  exclaimed,  in  an  agitated  tone,  to  the  group  of  farm- 
laborers, — 

"Take  this  woman  off  the  premises  directly!  Do  you  not 
perceive  grief  has  driven  her  out  of  her  senses?  Marie!  dear 
Marie!  never  mind  what  she  says.  She  is  mad,  poor  creature, 
and  knows  not  what  she  does ! " 

The  poor  Goualeuse,  pale,  exhausted,  and  almost  fainting, 
made  no  effort  to  escape  from  the  powerful  grasp  of  the  incensed 
milkwoman;  she  hung  her  head,  as  though  unable  or  unwilling 
to  meet  the  gaze  of  friend  or  foe.  Clara,  attributing  her  con- 
dition to  the  terror  excited  by  so  alarming  a  scene,  renewed  her 
commands  to  the  laborers,  "  Did  you  not  hear  me  desire  that 


THE  LETTER.  361 

this  mad  woman  might  be  instantly  taken  away  from  the  farm? 
However,  unless  she  immediately  ceases  her  rude  and  insolent 
language,  I  can  promise  her,  by  way  of  punishment,  she  shall 
neither  have  the  situation  my  mother  promised  her,  nor  ever  be 
suffered  to  put  her  foot  on  the  premises  again." 

Not  a  person  stirred  to  obey  Clara's  orders;  on  the  contrary, 
one  of  the  boldest  among  the  party  exclaimed, — 

"  Well,  but,  Miss  Clara,  if  your  friend  there  is  only  a  common 
girl  out  of  the  streets,  and,  as  such,  acquainted  with  the  murderer 
of  this  poor  woman's  husband,  surely  she  ought  to  go  before  the 
mayor  to  give  an  account  of  herself  and  her  bad  companions ! " 

"  I  tell  you,"  repeated  Clara,  with  indignant  warmth,  and 
addressing  the  milkwoman,  "  you  shall  never  enter  this  farm, 
again  unless  you  this  very  instant,  and  before  all  these  people, 
humbly  beg  pardon  of  Mademoiselle  Marie  for  all  the  wicked 
things  you  have  been  saying  about  her!" 

"  You  turn  me  off  the  premises  then,  mademoiselle,  do  you  ?  " 
retorted  the  widow,  with  bitterness.  "  Well,  so  be  it.  Come, 
my  poor  children,  let  us  put  the  things  back  in  the  cart,  and  go 
and  seek  our  bread  elsewhere.  God  will  take  care  of  us.  But, 
at  least,  when  we  go,  we  will  take  this  abandoned  young  woman 
with  us.  She  shall  be  made  to  tell  the  mayor,  if  she  won't  us, 
who  it  was  that  took  away  your  dear  father's  life ;  for  she  knows 
well  enough — she  who  was  the  daily  companion  of  the  worst  set 
of  ruffians  who  infest  Paris.  And  you,  miss,"  added  she,  looking 
spitefully  and  insolently  at  Clara,  "  you  should  not,  because  yon 
choose  to  make  friends  with  low  girls  out  of  the  streets,  and  be- 
cause you  happen  to  be  rich,  be  quite  so  hard-hearted  and  un- 
feeling to  poor  creatures  like  me!" 

"No  more  she  ought,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  laborers;  "the 
poor  woman  is  right !  " 

"  Of  course  she  is — she  is  only  standing  up  for  her  own !  " 

"  Poor  tiling,  she  has  no  one  now  to  do  so  for  her !  Why,  they 
have  murdered  her  husband  among  them !  I  should  think  that 
might  content  them,  without  trampling  the  poor  woman  under 
foot." 

"  One  comfort  is,  nobody  can  stop  her  from  doing  all  in  her 
power  to  bring  the  murderers  of  her  husband  to  justice." 

"  It  is  a  shame  to  send  her  away  in  this  manner,  like  a  dog ! " 

"  Can  she  help  it,  poor  creature,  if  Miss  Clara  thinks  proper 
to  take  up  with  common  girls  and  thieves,  and  make  them  her 
companions?  " 

"  Infamous,  to  turn  an  honest  woman,  a  poor  widow  with  help- 
less children,  into  the  streets  for  such  a  base  girl  as  that ! " 


362  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

These  different  speeches,  uttered  nearly  simultaneously  by  the 
surrounding  crowd,  were  rapidly  assuming  a  most  hostile  and 
threatening  tone,  when  Clara  joyfully  exclaimed, — 

"  Thank  God,  here  comes  my  mother !  " 

It  was,  indeed,  Madame  Dubreuil,  who  was  crossing  the  court- 
yard on  her  return  from  the  pavilion. 

"  Now,  then,  my  children,"  said  Madame  Dubreuil,  gayly  ap- 
proaching the  assembled  group,  "  will  you  come  in  to  breakfast  ? 
I  declare  it  is  quite  late!  I  dare  say  you  are  both  hungry? 
Come,  Marie  !— Clara !  " 

"  Mother,"  cried  Clara,  pointing  to  the  widow,  "  you  are  for- 
tunately just  in  time  to  save  my  dear  sister  Marie  from  the  in- 
sults and  violence  of  that  woman.'  Oh,  pray  order  her  away 
instantly !  If  you  only  knew  what  she  had  the  audacity  to  say 
to  Marie ! " 

"  Impossible,  Clara !  " 

"  Nay,  but,  dear  mother,  only  look  at  my  poor  dear  sister ! 
See  how  she  trembles !  She  can  scarcely  support  herself.  Oh, 
it  is  a  shame  and  disgrace  such  conduct  should  ever  have  been 
offered  to  a  guest  of  ours !  My  dear,  dear  friend — Marie,  dear ! 
— look  up,  and  say  you  are  not  angry  with  us.  Pray,  pray  tell 
me,  you  will  try  and  forget  it ! " 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?"  inquired  Madame 
Dubreuil,  looking  around  her  with  a  disturbed  and  uneasy  look, 
after  having  observed  the  despairing  agony  of  the  Goua- 
leuse. 

"  Ah,  now  we  shall  have  justice  done  the  poor  widow  wo- 
man !  "  murmured  the  laborers.  "  Madame  will  see  her  righted, 
no  doubt  about  it !  " 

"  Now  then,"  exclaimed  the  milkwoman,  exultingly,  "  here  is 
Madame  Dubreuil.  Now,  my  fine  miss,"  continued  she,  address- 
ing Fleur-de-Marie,  "you  will  have  your  turn  of  being  turned 
out-of-doors ! " 

"  Is  it  true,  then,"  cried  Madame  Dubreuil,  addressing  the 
widow,  who  still  kept  firm  hold  of  Fleur-de-Marie's  arm,  "  that 
you  have  dared  to  insult  my  daughter's  friend,  as  she  asserts? 
Is  this  the  way  you  show  your  gratitude  for  all  I  have  done  to 
serve  you  ?  Will  you  leave  that  young  lady  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madame,"  replied  the  woman,  relinquishing  her  grasp 
of  Fleur-de-Marie,  "  at  your  bidding  I  will ;  for  I  respect  you 
too  much  to  disobey  you.  And,  besides,  I  owe  you  much  grati- 
tude for  all  your  kindness  to  a  poor,  friendless  creature  like 
myself.  But,  before  you  blame  me,  and  drive  me  off  the  premises 
with  my  poor  children,  just  question  that  wretched  creature  that 


THE  LETTER.  363 

has  caused  all  this  confusion  what  she  knows  of  me.  I  know  a 
pretty  deal  more  of  her  than  is  to  her  credit !  " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Marie,"  exclaimed  Madame  Dubreuil,  al- 
most petrified  with  astonishment,  "  what  does  this  woman  allude 
to?  Do  you  hear  what  she  says?" 

"  Are  you,  or  are  you  not  known  by  the  name  of  the  Goua- 
leuse?"  said  the  milkwoman  to  Marie. 

"  Yes/'  said  the  wretched  girl  in  a  low,  trembling  voice, 
and  without  venturing  to  lift  up  her  eyes  towards  Madame 
Dubreuil — "yes,  I  am  called  so." 

"  There — you  see !  "  vociferated  the  enraged  laborers.  "  She 
owns  it ! — she  owns  it !  " 

"  What  does  she  own  ? "  inquired  Madame  Dubreuil,  half 
frightened  at  the  assent  given  by  Fleur-de-Marie. 

"  Leave  her  to  me,  madame,"  resumed  the  widow,  "  and  you 
shall  hear  her  confess  that  she  was  living  in  a  house  of  the  most 
infamous  description,  in  the  Rue-aux-Feves  in  the  Cite,  and  that 
she  every  morning  purchased  a  half-pennyworth  of  milk  of  me. 
She  cannot  deny  either  having  repeatedly  spoken  in  my  presence 
to  the  murderer  of  my  poor  husband.  Oh,  she  knows  him  well 
enough,  I  am  quite  certain :  a  pale  young  man,  who  smoked  a 
great  deal,  and  always  wore  a  cap  and  a  blouse,  and  wore  his 
hair  very  long;  she  could  tell  his  name  if  she  chose.  Is  this 
true,  or  is  it  a  lie  ?  "  vociferously  demanded  the  milkwoman. 

"I  may  have  spoken  to  the  man  who  killed  your  husband," 
answered  Fleur-de-Marie,  in  a  faint  voice ;  "  for,  unhappily,  there 
are  more  than  one  in  the  Cite  capable  of  such  a  crime.  But,  in- 
deed, I  know  not  of  whom  you  are  speaking ! " 

"  What  does  she  say  ?  "  asked  Madame  Dubreuil,  horror-struck 
at  her  words.  "  She  admits  having  possibly  conversed  with 
murderers  ?  " 

"  Oh,  such  lost  wretches  as  she  is,"  replied  the  widow,  "  have 
no  better  companions !  " 

At  first,  utterly  stupefied  by  so  singular  a  discovery,  confirmed, 
indeed,  by  Fleur-de-Marie's  own  admission,  Madame  Dubreuil 
seemed  almost  incapable  of  comprehending  the  scene  before  her ; 
but  quickly  the  whole  truth  presented  itself  to  her  mental  vision, 
and,  shrinking  from  the  unfortunate  girl  with  horror  and  dis- 
gust, she  hastily  seized  her  daughter  by  the  dress,  as  she  was 
about  to  sustain  the  sinking  form  of  the  poor  Goualeuse,  and, 
drawing  her  towards  her  with  a  sudden  violence,  she  ex- 
claimed,— 

"  Clara !  for  Heaven's  sake  approach  not  that  vile,  that  aban- 
doned young  woman!  Oh,  dreadful,  indeed,  ever  to  have  ad- 


364  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

mitted  her  here !  But  how  came  Madame  Georges  to  have  her 
tinder  her  roof  ?  And  how  could  she  so  far  insult  me  as  to  bring 
her  here,  and  allow  my  daughter  to This  is,  indeed,  dis- 
graceful! I  hardly  know  whether  to  trust  the  evidence  of  my 
own  senses.  But  Madame  Georges  must  have  been  as  much  im- 
posed on  as  myself,  or  she  never  would  have  permitted  such  an 
indignity.  No,  no !  she  is  incapable  of  such  dishonorable  con- 
duct. It  would,  indeed,  be  a  disgrace  for  one  female  so  to  have 
deceived  another." 

Poor  Clara,  terrified  and  almost  heart-broken  at  this  distress- 
ing scene,  could  scarcely  believe  herself  awake.  It  seemed  as 
though  she  were  under  the  influence  of  a  fearful  dream.  Her 
innocent  and  pure  mind  comprehended  not  the  frightful  charges 
brought  against  her  friend ;  but  she  understood  enough  to  fill 
her  with  the  most  poignant  grief  at  the  unfortunate  position  of 
La  Goualeuse,  who  stood  mute,  passive,  and  downcast,  like  a 
criminal  in  the  presence  of  the  judge. 

"  Come,  come,  my  child/'  repeated  Madame  Dubreuil,  "  let 
'us  quit  this  disgraceful  scene."  Then,  turning  towards  Fleur- 
de-Marie,  she  said, — 

"  As  for  you,  worthless  girl,  the  Almighty  will  punish  you  as 
you  deserve  for  your  deceit !  That  my  child,  good  and  virtuous 
as  she  is,  should  ever  have  been  allowed  to  call  you  sister  or 
friend !  Her  sister !  You — the  very  vilest  of  the  vile ! — the 
outcast  of  the  most  depraved  and  lost  wretches !  What  hardi- 
hood, what  effrontery,  you  must  have  possessed,  to  dare  to  show 
your  face  among  good  and  honest  people,  when  your  proper  place 
would  have  been  along  with  your  bad  companions  in  a  prison ! " 

"  Ay,  ay !  "  cried  all  the  laborers  at  once ;  "  let  her  be  sent  off 
to  prison  at  once.  She  knows  the  murderer !  Let  her  be  made 
to  declare  who  and  what  he  is." 

"  She  is  most  likely  his  accomplice !  " 

"  You  see,"  exclaimed  the  widow,  doubling  her  fist  in  the  face 
of  the  Goualeuse,  "  that  my  words  have  come  true.  Justice  will 
overtake  you  before  you  can  commit  other  crimes." 

"  As  for  you,  my  good  woman,"  said  Madame  Dubreuil  to  the 
milkwoman,  "far  from  sending  you  away,  I  shall  well  reward 
you  for  the  service  you  have  done  me  in  unmasking  this  in- 
famous girl's  real  character." 

"  There,  I  told  you,"  murmured  the  voices  of  the  laborers, 
"  our  mistress  always  does  justice  to  everyone !  " 

"  Come,  Clara,"  resumed  Madame  Dubreuil,  "  let  us  retire  and 
seek  Madame  Georges,  that  she  may  clear  up  her  share  of  this 
disgraceful  business,  or  she  and  I  never  meet  again;  for  either 


THE  LETTER.  365 

she  has  herself  been  most  dreadfully  deceived,  or  her  conduct 
towards  us  is  of  the  very  worst  description." 

"  But,  mother,  only  look  at  poor  Marie !  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  her !  Let  her  die  of  shame,  if  she  likes — 
there  will  be  one  wicked,  hardened  girl  less  in  the  world.  Treat 
her  with  the  contempt  she  deserves.  I  will  not  suffer  you  to 
remain  another  instant  where  she  is.  It  is  impossible  for  a 
young  person  like  you  to  notice  her  in  any  way  without  dis- 
gracing herself." 

"  My  dear  mother,"  answered  Clara,  resisting  her  mother's 
attempts  to  draw  her  away,  "I  do  not  understand  what  you 
mean.  Marie  must  be  wrong  in  some  way,  since  you  say  so! 
But  look,  only  look  at  her — she  is  fainting!  Pity  her!  Oh, 
mother,  let  her  be  ever  so  guilty,  pray  take  pity  on  her  present 
distress ! " 

"  Oh,  Mademoiselle  Clara,  you  are  good — very,  very  good — 
to  pardon  me  and  care  for  me,"  uttered  poor  Fleur-de-Marie, 
in  a  faint  voice,  casting  a  look  of  unutterable  gratitude  on  her 
young  protectress.  "  Believe  me,  it  was  sorely  against  my  will 
ever  to  deceive  you ;  and  daily,  hourly,  have  I  reproached  myself 
for  so  doing." 

"  Mother !  "  exclaimed  Clara,  in  the  most  piteous  tones,  "  are 
you  then  so  merciless?  Can  you  not  pity  her?" 

"  Pity !  "  returned  Madame  Dubreuil,  scornfully.  "  No, 
I  waste  no  pity  on  such  as  she  is.  Come,  I  say!  Were  it  not 
that  I  consider  it  the  office  of  Madame  Georges  to  clear  the  place 
of  so  vile  a  creature,  I  would  have  her  spurned  from  the  doors, 
as  though  she  carried  the  plague  about  with  her."  So  saying, 
the  angry  mother  seized  her  daughter's  hand,  and,  spite  of  all  her 
struggles,  led  her  away,  Clara  continually  turning  back  her  head, 
and  saying, — 

"  Marie,  my  sister,  I  know  not  what  they  accuse  you  of ;  but  I 
am  quite  convinced  of  your  innocence.  Be  assured  of  my  con- 
stant love,  whatever  they  may  say  or  do." 

"  Silence !  silence,  I  command ! "  cried  Madame  Dubreuil, 
placing  her  hand  over  her  daughter's  mouth.  "  Speak  not  an- 
other word,  I  insist!  Fortunately,  we  have  plenty  of  wit- 
nesses to  testify  that,  after  the  odious  discovery  we  have  just 
made,  you  were  not  suffered  to  remain  a  single  instant  with  this 
lost  and  unfortunate  young  woman.  You  can  all  answer  for 
that,  can  you  not,  my  good  people  ?  "  continued  she,  speaking  to 
the  assembled  laborers. 

"  Yes,  yes,  madame,"  replied  one  of  them ;  "we  all  know  well 
enough  that  Mademoiselle  Clara  was  not  allowed  to  stop  with 


366  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

this  bad  girl  a  single  instant  after  you  found  out  her  wickedness. 
No  doubt  she  is  a  thief,  or  she  would  not  be  so  intimate  with 
murderers." 

Madame  Dubreuil  led  Clara  to  the  house,  while  the  Goualeuse 
remained  in  the  midst  of  the  hostile  circle  which  had  now  formed 
around  her.  Spite  of  the  reproaches  of  Madame  Dubreuil,  her 
presence,  and  that  of  Clara,  had,  in  some  degree,  served  to  allay 
the  fears  of  Fleur-de-Marie  as  to  the  probable  termination  of 
the  scene.  But  after  the  departure  of  both  mother  and  daughter, 
when  she  found  herself  so  entirely  at  the  mercy  of  the  enraged 
crowd,  her  strength  seemed  to  forsake  her,  and  she  was  obliged 
to  keep  herself  from  falling  by  leaning  on  the  parapet  of  the 
deep  watering-place  where  the  farm  cattle  were  accustomed  to 
drink. 

Nothing  could  be  conceived  more  touching  than  the  attitude 
of  the  unfortunate  girl,  nor  could  a  more  threatening  appearance 
have  been  displayed  than  was  exhibited  in  the  words  and  looks 
of  the  countrymen  and  women  who  surrounded  her.  Seated,  or 
rather  supporting  herself  on  the  narrow  margin  of  the  wall 
which  enclosed  the  drinking-place,  her  head  hanging  down,  and 
concealed  by  both  hands,  her  neck  and  bosom  hid  by  the  ends 
of  the  little  red  cotton  handkerchief  which  was  twisted  around 
her  cap,  the  poor  Goualeuse,  mute  and  motionless,  presented  a 
most  touching  picture  of  grief  and  resignation. 

At  some  little  distance  from  Fleur-de-Marie  stood  the  widow 
of  the  murdered  man.  Triumphant  in  her  vindictive  rage,  and 
still  further  excited  by  the  indignation  expressed  by  Madame 
Dubreuil,  she  pointed  out  the  wretched  object  of  her  wrath  to 
the  laborers  and  her  children,  with  gestures  of  contempt  and 
detestation.  The  farm-servants,  who  had  now  formed  into  a 
close  circle,  sought  not  to  conceal  their  disgust  and  thirst  for 
vengeance;  their  rude  countenances  expressed  at  once  rage, 
desire  for  revenge,  and  a  sort  of  insulting  raillery.  The  women 
were  even  still  more  bitter,  and  bent  upon  mischief.  Neither  did 
the  striking  beauty  of  the  Goualeuse  tend  to  allay  their  wrath. 
But  neither  men  nor  women  could  pardon  Fleur-de-Marie  the 
heinous  offense  of  having,  up  to  that  hour,  been  treated  by  their 
superiors  as  an  equal ;  and  some  of  the  men  now  present  having 
been  unsuccessful  candidates  for  the  vacant  situations  at  Bouque- 
val,  and  attributing  their  failure  to  Madame  Georges,  when,  in 
reality,  their  disappointment  arose  entirely  from  their  recom- 
mendations not  being  sufficiently  satisfactory,  determined  to  avail 
themselves  of  the  opportunity  now  before  them  to  wreak  their 
vexation  and  ill  will  on  the  head  of  one  she  was  known  to  pro- 


THE  LETTER,  367 

tect  and  love.  The  impulses  of  ignorant  minds  always  lead  to 
extremes  either  of  good  or  bad.  But  they  speedily  put  on  a 
most  dangerous  form,  when  the  fury  of  an  enraged  multitude  is 
directed  against  those  who  may  already  have  awakened  their 
personal  anger  or  aversion. 

Although  the  greater  number  of  the  laborers  now  collected  to- 
gether might  not  have  been  so  strictly  virtuous  and  free  from 
moral  blame  as  to  be  justified  in  throwing  the  first  stone  at  the 
trembling,  fainting  girl,  who  was  the  object  of  all  their  con- 
centrated wrath,  yet,  on  the  present  occasion,  they  unanimously 
spoke  and  acted  as  though  her  very  presence  were  capable  of 
contaminating  them ;  and  their  delicacy  and  modesty  alike  re- 
volted at  the  bare  recollection  of  the  depraved  class  to  which  she 
had  belonged,  and  they  shuddered  to  be  so  near  one  who  con- 
fessed to  having  frequently  conversed  with  assassins.  Nothing, 
then,  was  wanting  to  urge  on  a  blind  and  prejudiced  crowd,  still 
further  instigated  by  the  example  of  Madame  Dubreuil. 

"  Take  her  before  the  mayor ! "  cried  one. 

"  Ay,  ay !  and,  if  she  won't  walk,  we'll  drag  her." 

"  And  for  her  to  have  the  impudence  to  dress  herself  like  one 
of  us  honest  girls ! "  said  an  awkward,  ill-looking  farm-wench. 

"  I'm  sure,"  rejoined  another  female,  with  her  mock-modest 
air,  "  one  might  have  thought  she  would  go  to  heaven,  spite  of 
priest  or  confession !  " 

"  Why,  she  had  the  assurance  even  to  attend  mass ! " 

"  Xo !  did  she  ?  Why  did  she  not  join  in  the  communion  after- 
wards then,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  And  then  she  must  play  the  young  lady,  and  hold  up  her 
head  as  high  as  our  betters ! " 

"  As  though  we  were  not  good  company  enough  for  her ! " 

"  However,  every  dog  has  his  day !  " 

"  Oh,  I'll  make  you  find  your  tongue,  and  tell  who  it  was  took 
my  husband's  life ! "  vociferated  the  enraged  widow,  breaking 
out  into  a  fresh  storm,  now  she  felt  her  party  so  strong.  "  You 
all  belong  to  one  gang;  and  I'm  not  sure  but  I  saw  you  among 
them  at  the  very  time  and  place  when  the  bloody  deed  was  done ! 
Come,  come;  don't  stand  there  shedding  your  crocodile  tears: 
you  are  found  out,  and  may  as  well  leave  off  shamming  any 
more.  Show  your  face,  I  say !  You  are  a  beauty — ain't  you  ?  " 
And  the  infuriated  woman,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word, 
violently  snatched  the  two  hands  of  poor  Fleur-de-Marie  from 
the  pale  and  grief-worn  countenance  they  concealed,  and  down 
which  tears  were  fast  streaming. 

The  Goualeuse,  sinking  under  a  sense  of  shame,  and  terrified 


368  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

at  finding  herself  thus  at  the  mercy  of  her  persecutors,  joined  her 
hands,  and,  turning  towards  the  milkwoman  her  supplicating 
and  timid  looks,  she  said,  in  a  gentle  voice, — 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  madam,  I  have  been  at  the  farm  of  Bouque- 
val  these  last  two  months.  How  could  I,  then,  have  been  wit- 
ness to  the  dreadful  misfortune  you  speak  of?  And " 

The  faint  tones  of  Fleur-de-Marie's  voice  were  drowned  in 
the  loud  uproarious  cries  of  the  surrounding  multitude. 

"  Let  us  take  her  before  the  mayor !  She  can  speak ;  and  she 
shall,  too,  to  some  purpose.  March,  march,  my  fine  madam ! 
On  with  you !  " 

So  saying,  the  menacing  crowd  pressed  upon  the  poor  girl, 
who,  mechanically  crossing  her  hands  on  her  bosom,  looked 
eagerly  around,  as  though  in  search  of  help. 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  milkwoman,  "  you  need  not  stare  about  in 
that  wild  way.  Mademoiselle  Clara  is  not  here  now  to  take  your 
part.  You  don't  slip  through  my  fingers,  I  promise  you !  " 

"  Alas !  madam,"  uttered  Fleur-de-Marie,  trembling  violently, 
"  I  seek  not  to  escape  from  you.  Be  assured,  I  am  both  ready 
and  willing  to  answer  all  the  questions  put  to  me,  if  I  can  be  of 
any  service  to  you  by  so  doing.  But  what  harm  have  I  done  to 
these  people,  who  surround  and  threaten  me  in  this  manner?" 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  repeated  a  number  of  voices ;  "  why, 
you  have  dared  to  stick  yourself  up  with  our  betters,  when  we, 
who  were  worth  thousands  more  than  such  as  you,  were  made 
to  keep  our  distance — that's  what  you  have  done !  " 

"  And  what  right  had  you  to  cause  this  poor  woman  to  be 
turned  away  with  her  fatherless  children?"  cried  another. 

"  Indeed,  it  was  no  fault  of  mine.  It  was  Mademoiselle  Clara, 
who  wished " 

"  That  is  not  true !  "  interrupted  the  speaker.  "  You  never 
even  opened  your  mouth  in  her  favor.  No,  not  you !  You  were 
too  well  pleased  to  see  her  bread  taken  from  her." 

"  No,  no !  no  more  she  did,"  chimed  in  a  burst  of  voices,  male 
and  female. 

"  She  is  a  regular  bad  one !  " 

"  A  poor  widow-woman,  with  three  helpless  children ! " 

"  If  I  did  not  plead  for  her  with  Mademoiselle  Clara,  it  was 
because  I  had  not  power  to  utter  a  word." 

"  You  could  find  strength  enough  to  talk  to  a  set  of  thieves 
and  murderers ! " 

And,  as  is  frequently  the  case  in  public  commotions,  the 
country  people,  more  ignorant  than  vicious,  actually  talked  them- 
selves into  a  fury,  until  their  own  words  and  violence  excited 


THE  LETTER.  369 

them  to  fresh  acts  of  rage  and  vengeance  against  their  un- 
happy victim. 

The  menacing  throng,  gesticulating  and  loudly  threatening, 
advanced  closer  and  closer  towards  Fleur-de-Marie,  while  the 
widow  appeared  to  have  lost  all  command  over  herself.  Sepa- 
rated from  the  deep  pond  only  by  the  parapet  on  which  she  was 
leaning,  the  Goualeuse  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  their  throwing 
her  into  the  water ;  and,  extending  towards  them  her  supplicat- 
ing hands,  she  exclaimed, —  / 

"  Good,  kind  people !  what  do  you  want  with  me  ?  For  pity's 
sake  do  not  harm  me ! " 

And  as  the  milkwoman,  with  fierce  and  angry  gestures,  kept 
coming  nearer  and  nearer,  holding  her  clenched  fist  almost  in 
the  face  of  Fleur-de-Marie,  the  poor  girl,  drawing  herself  back 
in  terror,  said,  in  beseeching  tones, — 

"  Pray,  pray,  do  not  press  so  closely  on  me,  or  you  will  cause 
me  to  fall  into  the  water." 

These  words  suggested  a  cruel  idea  to  the  rough  spectators. 
Intending  merely  one  of  those  practical  jokes  which,  however 
diverting  to  the  projectors,  are  fraught  with  serious  harm  and 
suffering  to  the  unfortunate  object  of  them,  one  of  the  most 
violent  of  the  number  called  out,  "  Let's  give  her  a  plunge  in ! 
Buck  her!— duck  her!" 

"  Yes,  yes ! "  chimed  several  voices,  accompanied  with  brutal 
laughter,  and  noisy  clapping  of  hands,  with  other  tokens  of 
unanimous  approval.  "  Throw  her  in  ! — in  with  her !  " 

"  A  good  dip  will  do  her  good.    Water  won't  kill  her !  " 

"That  will  teach  her  not  to  show  her  face  among  honest 
people  again ! " 

"  To  be  sure.    Toss  her  in ! — fling  her  over ! " 

"  Fortunately,  the  ice  was  broken  this  morning ! " 

"  And  when  she  has  had  her  bath  she  may  go  and  tell  her 
street  companions  how  the  folks  at  Arnouville  farm  serve  such 
vile  girls  as  she  is ! " 

As  these  unfeeling  speeches  reached  her  ear,  as  she  heard  their 
barbarous  jokes,  and  observed  the  exasperated  looks  of  the  bru- 
tally excited  individuals  who  approached  her  to  carry  their  threat 
into  execution,  Fleur-de-Marie  gave  herself  over  for  lost.  But 
to  her  first  horror  of  a  violent  death  succeeded  a  sort  of  gloomy 
satisfaction.  The  future  wore  so  threatening  and  hopeless  an 
aspect  for  her,  that  she  thanked  Heaven  for  shortening  her  trial. 
Not  another  complaining  word  escaped  her;  but  gently  falling 
on  her  knees,  and  piously  folding  her  hands  upon  her  breast, 
ehe  closed  her  eyes,  and  meekly  resigned  herself  to  her  fate. 


370  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

The  laborers,  surprised  at  the  attitude  and  mute  resignation  of 
the  Goualeuse,  hesitated  a  moment  in  the  accomplishment  of 
their  savage  design;  hut,  rallied  on  their  folly  and  irresolution 
by  the  female  part  of  the  assemblage,  they  recommenced  their 
uproarious  cries,  as  though  to  inspire  themselves  with  the  neces- 
sary courage  to  complete  their  wicked  purpose. 

Just  as  two  of  the  most  furious  of  the  party  were  about  to 
seize  on  Fleur- de-Marie,  a  loud,  thrilling  voice  was  heard,  ex- 
claiming,— 

"  Stop !  I  command  you !  " 

And  at  the  very  instant  Madame  Georges,  who  had  forced  a 
passage  through  the  crowd,  reached  the  still  kneeling  Goualeuse, 
took  her  in  her  arms,  and,  raising  her,  cried, — 

"  Eise  up,  my  child !  Stand  up,  my  beloved  daughter !  the 
knee  should  be  bent  to  God  alone !  " 

The  expression  and  attitude  of  Madame  Georges  were  so  full 
of  courageous  firmness,  that  the  actors  in  this  cruel  scene  shrunk 
back  speechless  and  confounded.  Indignation  colored  her  usu- 
ally pale  features,  and  casting  on  the  laborers  a  stern  look  she 
said  to  them,  in  a  loud  and  threatening  voice, — 

"  Wretches ! — are  you  not  ashamed  of  such  brutal  conduct  to 
a  helpless  girl  like  this  ?  " 

"  She  is " 

"  My  daughter ! "  exclaimed  Madame  Georges,  with  severity, 
and  abruptly  interrupting  the  man  who  was  about  to  speak; 
"  and,  as  such,  both  cherished  and  protected  by  our  worthy  cure, 
M.  1'Abbe  Laporte,  whom  everyone  venerates  and  loves;  and 
those  whom  he  loves  and  esteems  ought  to  be  respected  by  every 
one ! " 

These  simple  words  effectually  imposed  silence  on  the  crowd. 
The  cure  of  Bouqueval  was  looked  upon  throughout  his  district 
almost  as  a  saint,  and  many  there  present  were  well  aware  of 
the  interest  he  took  in  the  Goualeuse.  Still  a  confused  murmur 
went  on,  and  Madame  Georges,  fully  comprehending  its  import, 
added, — 

"  Suppose  this  poor  girl  were  the  very  worst  of  creatures — the 
most  abandoned  of  her  sex — your  conduct  is  not  the  less  dis- 
graceful!  What  offense  has  she  committed?  And  what  right 
have  you  to  punish  her  ? — you,  who  call  yourselves  men,  to  exert 
your  strength  and  power  against  one  poor,  feeble,  unresisting 
female!  Surely  it  was  a  cowardly  action  all  to  unite  against  a 
defenseless  girl!  Come,  Marie!  come,  child  of  my  heart!  let 
us  return  home:  there,  at  least,  you  are  known,  and  justly 
appreciated." 


THE  LETTER.  37^ 

Madame  Georges  took  the  arm  of  Fleur-de-Marie,  while  the 
laborers,  ashamed  of  their  conduct,  the  impropriety  of  which  they 
now  perceived,  respectfully  dispersed.  The  widow  alone  re- 
mained ;  and,  advancing  boldly  to  Madame  Georges,  she  said,  in 
a  resolute  tone, — 

"  I  don't  care  for  a  word  you  say !  and,  as  for  this  girl,  she 
does  not  quit  this  place  until  after  she  has  deposed  before  the 
mayor  as  to  all  she  knows  of  my  poor  husband's  murder." 

"  My  good  woman ! "  said  Madame  Georges,  restraining  her- 
self by  a  violent  effort,  "  my  daughter  has  no  deposition  to 
make  here,  but,  at  any  future  period  that  justice  may  require 
her  testimony,  let  her  be  summoned,  and  she  shall  attend,  with 
myself:  until  then  no  person  has  a  right  to  question  her." 

'"But,  madame,  I  say " 

Madame  Georges  prevented  the  milkwoman  from  proceeding 
by  replying,  in  severe  tone, — 

"  The  severe  affliction  you  have  experienced  can  scarcely 
excuse  your  conduct,  and  you  will  one  day  regret  the  violence 
you  have  so  improperly  excited.  Mademoiselle  Marie  lives  with 
me  at  the  Bouqueval  farm :  inform  the  judge  who  received 
your  deposition  of  that  circumstance,  and  say  that  we  await  his 
further  crders." 

The  widow,  unable  to  argue  against  words  so  temperately  and 
wisely  spoken,  seated  herself  on  the  parapet  of  the  drinking- 
place,  and,  embracing  her  children,  began  to  weep  bitterly. 
Almost  immediately  after  this  scene  Pierre  brought  the  chaise, 
into  which  Madame  Georges  and  Fleur-de-Marie  mounted,  to 
return  to  Bouqueval. 

As  they  passed  before  the  farm-house  of  Arnouville,  the 
Goualeuse  perceived  Clara,  who  had  hid  herself  behind  a  partly 
closed  shutter,  weeping  bitterly.  She  was  evidently  watching 
for  a  last  glimpse  of  of  her  friend,  to  whom  she  waved  her 
handkerchief  in  token  of  farewell. 

"  Ah,  madame !  what  shame  to  me,  and  vexation  to  you,  has 
arisen  this  morning  from  our  visit  to  Arnouville ! "  said  Fleur- 
de-Marie  to  her  adopted  parent,  when  they  found  themselves  in 
the  sitting-room  at  Bouqueval :  "  you  have  probably  quarreled 
forever  with  Madame  Dubreuil,  and  all  on  my  account !  Oh,  I 
foresaw  something  terrible  was  about  to  happen !  God  has  justly 
punished  me  for  deceiving  that  good  lady  and  her  daughter! 
I  am  the  unfortunate  cause  of  perpetual  disunion  between  your- 
self and  your  friend !  " 

"  My  dear  child,  my  friend  is  a  warm-hearted,  excellent 
woman,  but  rather  weak;  still  I  know  her  too  well  not  to  feel 


372  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

certain,  that  by  to-morrow  she  will  regret  her  foolish  violence 
of  to-day." 

"Alas,  madame,  think  not  that  I  wish  to  take  her  part  in 
preference  to  yours !  No,  God  forbid !  but  pardon  me  if  I  say 
that  I  fear  your  great  kindness  towards  me  has  induced  you  to 

shut  your  eyes  to Put  yourself  in  the  place  of  Madame 

Dubreuil — to  be  told  that  the  companion  of  your  darling  daugh- 
ter was — what  I  was Ah,  could  anyone  blame  such  natural 

indignation  ?  " 

Unfortunately,  Madame  Georges  could  not  find  any  satis- 
factory reply  to  this  question  of  Fleur-de-Marie's,  who  con- 
tinued, with  much  excitement, — 

"  Soon  will  the  degrading  scene  of  yesterday  be  in  everybody's 
mouth !  I  fear  not  for  myself,  but  who  can  tell  how  far  it  may 
affect  the  reputation  of  Mademoiselle  Clara?  Who  can  answer 
for  it  that  I  may  not  have  tarnished  her  fair  fame  forever? 
for  did  she  not,  in  the  face  of  the  assembled  crowd,  persist  in 
calling  me  her  friend — her  sister?  I  ought  to  have  obeyed  my 
first  impulse,  and  resisted  the  affection  which  attracted  me  to- 
wards Mademoiselle  Dubreuil,  and,  at  the  risk  of  incurring  her 
dislike,  have  refused  the  friendship  she  offered  me.  But  I  for- 
got the  distance  which  separated  me  from  her,  and  now,  as  you 
perceive,  I  am  suffering  the  just  penalty:  I  am  punished — oh, 
how  cruelly  punished !  for  I  have  perhaps  done  an  irreparable 
injury  to  one  so  virtuous  and  so  good." 

"  My  child,"  said  Madame  Georges,  after  a  brief  silence,  "  you 
are  wrong  to  accuse  yourself  so  cruelly.  'Tis  true  your  past  life 
has  been  guilty — very  highly  so :  but  are  we  to  reckon  as  nothing 
your  having,  by  the  sincerity  of  your  repentance,  obtained  the 
protection  and  favor  of  our  excellent  cure  ?  and  was  it  not  under 
his  auspices  and  mine  you  were  introduced  to  Madame  Dubreuil  ? 
and  did  not  your  own  amiable  qualities  inspire  her  with  the 
attachment  she  so  voluntarily  professed  for  you  ?  was  it  not  she 
herself  who  requested  you  to  call  Clara  your  sister?  and,  finally, 
as  I  told  her  just  now,  for  I  neither  wished  nor  ought  to  conceal 
the  whole  truth  from  her,  how  could  I,  certain  as  I  felt  of  your 
sincere  repentance — how  could  I,  by  divulging  the  past,  render 
your  attempts  to  reinstate  yourself  more  painful  and  difficult, 
perhaps  impossible,  by  throwing  you,  in  despair  of  being  again 
received  by  the  good  and  virtuous,  back  upon  the  scorn  and 
derision  of  those  who,  equally  guilty,  equally  unfortunate  as 
you  have  been,  would  not  perhaps  like  you  have  preserved  the 
secret  instinct  of  honor  and  virtue  ?  The  disclosure  made  by  the 
woman  to-day  is  alike  to  be  lamented  and  feared;  but  could  I, 


THE  LETTER.  373 

in  anticipation  of  an  almost  impossible  casualty,  sacrifice  your 
present  comfort  and  future  repose?" 

"  Ah,  madame,  a  convincing  proof  of  the  false  and  miserable 
position  I  must  ever  hold  may  be  found  in  the  fact  of  your  being 
obliged  to  conceal  the  past;  and  that  the  mother  of  Clara  de- 
spises me  for  that  past;  views  me  in  the  same  contemptuous 
light  all  will  henceforward  behold  me,  for  the  scene  at  the 
farm  at  Arnouville  will  be  quickly  spread  abroad — everyone  will 
hear  of  it !  Oh,  I  shall  die  with  shame !  never  again  can  I  meet 
the  looks  of  any  human  being ! " 

"  Not  even  mine,  my  child  ?  "  said  Madame  Georges,  bursting 
into  tears,  and  opening  her  arms  to  Fleur-de-Marie ;  "  you  will 
never  find  in  my  heart  any  other  feeling  than  the  devoted  tender- 
ness of  a  mother.  Courage,  then,  dear  Marie !  console  yourself 
with  the  knowledge  of  your  hearty  and  sincere  repentance ;  you 
are  here  surrounded  with  true  and  affectionate  friends,  let  this 
home  be  your  world.  We  will  anticipate  the  exposure  you  dread 
so  much:  our  worthy  abbe  shall  assemble  the  people  about  the 
farm,  who  all  regard  you  with  love  and  respect,  and  he  shall  tell 
them  the  sad  history  of  your  past  life;  and,  trust  me,  my  child, 
told  as  the  tale  would  be  by  him,  whose  word  is  law  here,  such  a 
disclosure  will  but  serve  to  increase  the  interest  all  take  in  your 
welfare." 

"  1  would  fain  think  so,  dear  madame,  and  I  submit  myself. 
Yesterday,  when  we  were  conversing  together,  M.  le  Cure  pre- 
dicted to  me  that  I  should  be  called  upon  painfully  to  expiate 
my  past  offenses :  I  ought  not,  therefore,  to  be  astonished  at  their 
commencement.  He  told  me  also  that  my  earthly  trials  would 
be  accepted  as  some  atonement  for  the  great  wrong  I  have  done : 
I  would  fain  hope  so.  Supported  through  these  painful  ordeals 
by  you  and  my  venerable  pastor,  I  will  not — I  ought  not  to 
complain." 

"  You  will  go  to  his  presence  ere  long,  and  never  will  his 
counsels  have  been  more  valuable  to  you.  It  is  already  half- 
past  four;  prepare  yourself  for  your  visit  to  the  rectory,  my 
child.  I  shall  employ  myself  in  writing  to  M.  Rodolph  an  ac- 
count of  what  occurred  at  the  farm  at  Arnouville,  and  send  my 
letter  off  by  express;  I  will  then  join  you  at  our  venerable  abbe's, 
for  it  is  most  important  we  should  talk  over  matters  together." 

Shortly  after,  the  Goualeuse  quitted  the  farm,  in  order  to 
repair  to  the  rectory  by  the  hollow  road,  where  the  old  woman, 
the  Schoolmaster,  and  Tortillard,  had  agreed  to  meet. 
*  *  *  *  *  * 

As  may  have  been  perceived  in  her  conversations  with  Madame 


374  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

Georges  and  the  cure  of  Bouqueval,  Fleur-de-Marie  had  so  nobly 
profited  by  the  example  of  her  benefactors,  so  assimilated  her- 
self with  their  principles,  that,  remembering  her  past  degrada- 
tion, she  daily  became  more  hopeless  of  recovering  the  place  she 
had  lost  in  society.  As  her  mind  expanded  so  did  her  fine  and 
noble  instincts  arrive  at  mature  growth,  and  bring  forth  worthy 
fruits  in  the  midst  of  the  atmosphere  of  honor  and  purity  in 
which  she  lived.  Had  she  possessed  a  less  exalted  mind,  a  less 
exquisite  sensibility,  or  an  imagination  of  weaker  quality,  Fleur- 
de-Marie  might  easily  have  been  comforted  and  consoled;  but, 
unfortunately,  not  a  single  day  passed  in  which  she  did  not 
recall,  and  almost  live  over  again,  with  an  agony  of  horror  and 
disgust,  the  disgraceful  miseries  of  her  past  life.  Let  the  reader 
figure  to  himself  a  young  creature  of  sixteen,  candid  and  pure, 
and  rejoicing  in  that  very  candor  and  purity,  thrown,  by  fright- 
ful circumstances,  into  the  infamous  den  of  the  ogress,  and 
irrecoverably  subjected  to  the  dominion  of  such  a  fiend, — such 
was  the  reaction  of  the  past  on  the  present  on  Fleur-de-Marie's 
mind.  Let  us  still  further  display  the  resentful  retrospect,  or, 
rather,  the  moral  agony  with  which  the  ,Goualeuse  suffered  so 
excruciatingly,  by  saying  that  she  regretted,  more  frequently 
than  she  had  courage  to  own  to  the  cure,  the  not  having  perished 
in  the  midst  of  the  slough  of  wickedness  by  which  she  was 
encompassed. 

However  little  a  person  may  reflect,  or  however  limited  his 
knowledge  of  life  may  be,  he  will  not  refuse  to  assent  to  our 
remarks  touching  the  commiseration  which  such  a  case  as  Fleur- 
de-Marie's  fully  called  for.  She  was  deserving  of  both  interest 
and  pity,  not  only  because  she  had  never  known  what  it  was  to 
have  her  affections  fairly  aroused,  but  because  all  her  senses  were 
torpid,  and  as  yet  unawakened  by  noble  impulses — untaught, 
unaided,  unadvised.  Is  it  not  wonderful  that  this  unfortunate 
girl,  thrown  at  the  tender  age  of  sixteen  years  in  the  midst  of 
the  herd  of  savage  and  demoralized  beings  who  infest  the  Cite, 
should  yet  have  viewed  her  degrading  position  with  horror  and 
disgust,  and  have  escaped  from  the  sink  of  iniquity  morally  pure 
and  free  from  sin  ? 


THE  HOLLO  W  WA  7.  375 

CHAPTEE  XXXV. 

THE  HOLLOW  WAY. 

THE  sun  was  descending,  and  the  fields  were  silent  and  desert- 
ed. Fleur-de-Marie  had  reached  the  entrance  to  the  hollow  way, 
which  it  was  necessary  to  cross  in  her  walk  to  the  rectory,  when 
she  saw  a  little  lame  lad,  dressed  in  a  gray  blouse  and  blue  cap, 
come  out  of  the  ravine.  He  appeared  in  tears,  and  directly  he 
saw  the  Goualeuse  he  ran  towards  her. 

"  Oh,  good  lady,  have  pity  on  me,  I  pray ! "  he  exclaimed, 
clasping  his  hands  with  a  supplicating  look. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  poor 
boy?"  said  the  Goualeuse,  with  an  air  of  interest. 

"  Alas,  good  lady !  my  poor  grandmother,  who  is  very,  very 
old,  has  fallen  down  in  trying  to  climb  up  the  ravine,  and  hurt 
herself  very  much.  I  am  afraid  she  has  broken  her  leg,  and  I 
am  too  weak  to  lift  her  up  myself.  Mon  dieu!  what  shall  I  do  if 
yon  will  not  come  and  help  me?  Perhaps  my  poor  grandmother 
will  die ! " 

The  Goualeuse,  touched  with  the  grief  of  the  little  cripple, 
replied, — 

"  I  am  not  very  strong  myself,  my  child ;  but  perhaps  I  can 
help  you  to  assist  your  poor  grandmother.  Let  us  go  to  her  as 
quickly  as  we  can !  I  live  at  the  farm  close  by  here ;  and,  if  the 
poor  old  woman  cannot  walk  there  with  us,  I  will  send  somebody 
to  help  her !  " 

"  Oh,  good  lady,  le  Ion  Dieu  will  bless  you  for  your  kindness ! 
It  is  close  by  here — not  two  steps  down  this  hollow  way,  as  I 
told  you.  It  was  in  going  down  the  slope  that  she  fell." 

"You  do  not  belong  to  this  part  of  the  country?"  said  the 
Goualeuse,  inquiringly  following  Tortillard,  whom  our  readers 
have,  no  doubt,  recognized. 

"  No,  good  lady,  we  came  from  Ecouen ! " 

"And  where  are  you  going?" 

"  To  a  good  clergyman's,  who  lives  on  the  hill  out  there,"  said 
Bras  Rouge's  son,  to  increase  Fleur-de-Marie's  confidence. 

"To  the  Abbe  Laporte's,  perhaps?" 

"Yes,  good  lady;  to  the  Abbe  Laporte's.  My  poor  grand- 
mother knows  him  very,  very  well !  " 

"  And  I  was  going  there  also.    How  strange  that  we  should 


376  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

meet ! "  said  Fleur-de-Marie,  advancing  still  further  into  the 
hollow  way. 

"  Grandmamma,  I'm  coming — I'm  coming !  Take  courage, 
and  I  will  bring  you  help !  "  cried  Tortillard,  to  forewarn  the 
Schoolmaster  and  the  Chouette  to  prepare  themselves  to  lay 
hands  on  their  victim. 

"  Your  grandmother,  then,  did  not  fall  down  far  off  from 
here?"  inquired  the  Goualeuse. 

"  No,  good  lady ;  behind  that  large  tree  there,  where  the  road 
turns,  about  twenty  paces  from  here." 

Suddenly  Tortillard  stopped. 

The  noise  of  a  horse  galloping  was  heard  in  the  silence  of  the 
place. 

"  All  is  lost  again !  "  said  Tortillard  to  himself. 

The  road  made  a  very  sudden  bend  a  few  yards  from  the  spot 
where  Bras  Rouge's  son  was  with  the  Goualeuse.  A  horseman 
appeared  at  the  angle,  and  when  he  came  nigh  to  the  young  girl 
he  stopped.  And  then  was  heard  the  trot  of  another  horse ;  and 
some  moments  after  there  followed  a  groom  in  a  brown  coat, 
with  silver  buttons,  white  leather  breeches,  and  top-boots.  A 
leathern  belt  secured  round  his  waist  his  master's  macintosh. 
His  master  was  dressed  simply  in  a  stout  brown  frock-coat,  and 
a  pair  of  light  gray  trousers,  which  fitted  closely.  He  was 
mounted  on  a  thorough-bred  and  splendid  bay  horse,  which  he 
sat  admirably,  and  which,  in  spite  of  a  fast  gallop,  had  not  a 
bead  of  sweat  on  his  skin,  which  was  as  bright  and  brilliant  as 
a  star.  The  groom's  gray  horse,  which  stood  motionless  a  few 
paces  behind  his  master,  was  also  well-bred  and  perfect  of  his 
kind.  In  the  handsome  dark  face  of  the  gentleman  Tortillard 
recognized  the  Vicomte  de  Saint-Remy,  who  was  supposed  to 
be  the  lover  of  the  Duchesse  de  Lucenay. 

"  My  pretty  lass,"  said  the  vicomte  to  the  Goualeuse,  whose 
lovely  countenance  struck  him,  "  would  you  be  so  obliging  as  to 
tell  me  the  way  to  the  village  of  Arnouville  ?  " 

Fleur-de-Marie's  eyes  sunk  before  the  bold  and  admiring  look 
of  the  young  man,  as  she  replied, — 

"  On  leaving  the  sunken  road,  sir,  you  must  take  the  first 
turning  to  the  right,  and  that  path  will  lead  you  to  an  avenue  of 
cherry-trees,  which  is  the  straight  road  to  Arnouville." 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  my  pretty  lass !  You  tell  me  better  than 
an  old  woman,  whom  I  found  a  few  yards  further  on  stretched 
under  a  tree,  for  I  could  only  get  groans  and  moans  out  of  her." 

"  My  poor  grandmother ! "  said  Tortillard,  in  a  whining  tone. 

"One  word  more,"  said  M.  de  Saint-Remy,  addressing  La 


THE  HOLLOW  WAT.  377 

Goualeuse.  "Can  you  tell  me  if  I  shall  easily  find  M.  Du- 
breuil's  farm  at  Arnouville  ?  " 

Goualeuse  could  not  prevent  a  shudder  at  these  words,  which 
recalled  to  her  the  painful  scene  of  the  morning.  She 
replied, — 

"  The  farm-buildings  border  the  avenue  which  you  must  enter 
to  reach  Arnouville,  sir." 

"  Once  more,  many  thanks,  my  pretty  dear ! "  said  M.  de 
Saint-Kemy;  and  he  galloped  off  with  his  groom. 

The  handsome  features  of  the  viscount  were  in  full  animation 
whilst  he  was  talking  with  Fleur-de-Marie,  but  when  he  was 
again  alone  they  became  darkened  and  contracted  by  painful  un- 
easiness. Fleur-de-Marie,  remembering  the  unknown  person  for 
whom  they  were  so  hastily  preparing  a  pavilion  at  the  farm  of 
Arnouville  by  Madame  de  Lucenay's  orders,  felt  convinced  it  was 
for  this  young  and  good-looking  cavalier. 

The  sound  of  the  horses'  feet  as  they  galloped  on  was  heard 
for  some  time  on  the  hard  and  frozen  ground,  and  by  degrees 
grew  fainter,  then  were  no  longer  heard,  and  all  was  once  more 
hushed  in  silence.  Tortillard  breathed  again.  Desirous  of  en- 
couraging and  warning  his  accomplices,  one  of  whom,  the 
Schoolmaster,  was  concealed  from  the  horsemen,  Bras  Rouge's 
son  called  out, — 

"Granny!  granny! — here  I  am!  with  the  good  lady  who  is 
coming  to  help  you  !  " 

"  Quick,  quick,  my  boy !  The  gentleman  on  horseback  has 
made  us  lose  some  time,"  said  the  Goualeuse,  walking  at  a 
quicker  pace,  that  she  might  reach  the  turning  into  the  hollow 
way. 

She  had  scarcely  entered  it  when  the  Chouette,  who  was 
hidden  there,  exclaimed, — 

"  Now  then,  fourline!  " 

Then  springing  upon  the  Goualeuse,  the  one-eyed  hag  seized 
her  by  the  neck  with  one  hand,  whilst  with  the  other  she  pressed 
her  mouth ;  and  Tortillard,  throwing  himself  at  the  young  girl's 
feet,  clung  round  her  legs,  that  she  might  not  be  able  to  stir. 

This  took  place  so  rapidly,  that  the  Chouette  had  no  time 
to  examine  the  Goualeuse's  features ;  but  during  the  few  instants 
it  required  for  the  Schoolmaster  to  quit  the  hole  in  which  he 
was  ensconced,  to  grope  his  way  along  with  his  cloak,  the 
beldam  recognized  her  old  victim. 

"La  Pegriotte!"  she  exclaimed,  in  great  surprise.  Then 
adding  with  savage  delight,  "What,  is  it  you?  Ah,  the  baker 
(the  devil)  sends  you!  It  is  your  fate,  then,  to  fall  into  my 


378  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

clutches !  I  have  my  vitriol  in  the  fiacre  now,  and  your  white 
skin  shall  have  a  touch,  miss;  for  it  makes  me  sick  to  see  your 
fine  lady  countenance.  Come,  my  man,  mind  she  don't  bite; 
and  hold  her  tight  whilst  we  bundle  her  up." 

The  Schoolmaster  seized  the  Goualeuse  in  his  two  powerful 
hands,  and  before  she  could  utter  a  cry  the  Chouette  threw  the 
cloak  over  her  head,  and  wrapped  her  up  in  it,  tightly  and 
securely.  In  a  moment,  Fleur-de-Marie,  tied  and  enveloped, 
was  without  any  power  to  move  or  call  for  assistance. 

"  Now  take  up  your  parcel,  fourline,"  said  the  Chouette. 
"  He !  he !  he !  This  is  not  such  a  load  as  the  '  black  peter '  of 
the  woman  who  was  drowned  in  the  Canal  of  St.  Martin — is  it, 
my  man?"  And  as  the  brigand  shuddered  at  these  words, 
which  reminded  him  of  his  fearful  vision,  the  one-eyed  hag  re- 
sumed, "Well,  well,  what  ails  you,  fourline?  Why,  you  seem 
frozen!  Ever  since  the  morning,  your  teeth  chatter  as  if  you 
had  the  ague ;  and  you  look  in  the  air  as  if  you  were  looking  for 
something  there !  " 

"  Vile  impostor !  He  is  looking  to  see  the  flies,"  said  Tortil- 
lard. 

"  Come,  quick !  Haste  forward,  my  man !  Up  with  Pegri- 
otte !  That's  it !  "  said  the  Chouette,  as  she  saw  the  ruffian  lift 
Fleur-de-Marie  in  his  arms  as  he  would  carry  a  sleeping  infant. 
"  Quick  to  the  coach  ! — quick — quick !  " 

"  But  who  will  lead  me  ? "  inquired  the  Schoolmaster,  in  a 
hoarse  voice,  and  securing  his  light  and  flexible  burden  in  his 
herculean  arms. 

"  Old  wise  head ! — he  thinks  of  everything !  "  said  the  Chou- 
ette. 

Then,  lifting  aside  her  shawl,  she  unfastened  a  red  pocket- 
handkerchief  which  covered  her  skinny  neck,  and,  twisting  it 
into  its  length,  said  to  the  Schoolmaster, — 

"  Open  your  ivories,  and  take  the  end  of  this  wipe  between 
them.  Hold  tight!  Tortillard  will  take  the  other  end  in  his 
hand,  and  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  follow  him.  The  good 
blind  man  requires  a  good  dog !  Here,  brat !  " 

The  cripple  cut  a  caper,  and  made  a  sort  of  low  and  odd 
barking.  Then,  taking  the  other  end  of  the  handkerchief  in 
his  hand,  he  led  the  Schoolmaster  in  this  way,  whilst  the  Chou- 
ette hastened  forward  to  apprise  Barbillon.  We  have  not  at- 
tempted to  paint  Fleur-de-Marie's  terror  when  she  found  her- 
self in  the  power  of  the  Chouette  and  the  Schoolmaster.  She 
felt  all  her  strength  leave  her,  and  could  not  offer  the  slightest 
resistance. 


CLEMENCE  HEAR  VILLE.  379 

Some  minutes  afterwards  the  Goualeuse  was  lifted  into  the 
fiacre  which  Barbillon  drove,  and  although  it  was  night  they 
closed  the  window  blinds  carefully;  and  the  three  accomplices 
went,  with  their  almost  expiring  victim,  towards  the  Plain  of 
Saint-Denis,  where  Thomas  Seyton  awaited  them. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

CLEMENCE    D'HARVILLE. 

THE  reader  will  kindly  excuse  our  having  left  one  of  our 
heroines  in  a  most  critical  situation,  the  denotement  of  which 
we  shall  state  hereafter. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Rodolph  had  preserved  Madame 
d'Harville  from  an  imminent  danger,  occasioned  by  the  jealousy 
of  Sarah,  who  had  acquainted  M.  d'Harville  with  the  assigna- 
ation  Clemenee  had  so  imprudently  granted  to  M.  Charles 
Robert.  Deeply  affected  with  the  scene  he  had  witnessed,  the 
prince  returned  directly  home  after  quitting  the  Rue  du  Temple, 
putting  off  till  the  next  day  the  visit  he  purposed  paying  to 
Mdlle.  Rigolette  and  the  distressed  family  of  the  unfortunate 
artisan,  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  believing  them  out  of  the 
reach  of  present  want,  thanks  to  the  money  he  had  given 
Madame  d'Harville  to  convey  to  them,  in  order  that  her  pre- 
tended charitable  visit  to  the  house  might  assume  a  more  con- 
vincing appearance  in  the  eyes  of  her  husband. 

Unfortunately,  Rodolph  was  ignorant  of  Tortillard's  having 
possessed  himself  of  the  purse,  although  the  reader  has  already 
been  told  how  the  artful  young  thief  contrived  to  effect  the 
barefaced  cheat. 

About  four  o'clock  the  prince  received  the  following  letter, 
which  was  brought  by  an  old  woman,  who  went  away  the  instant 
she  had  delivered  it,  without  awaiting  any  answer. 

"  MY  LORD, 

"  I  owe  you  more  than  life ;  and  I  would  fain  express 
my  heartfelt  gratitude  for  the  invaluable  service  you  have  ren- 
dered me  to-day.  To-morrow  shame  would,  perhaps,  close  my 
lips.  If  your  royal  highness  will  honor  me  with  a  call  this 
evening,  you  will  finish  the  day  as  you  began  it — by  a  generous 
action.  D'ORBIGNY-D'HARVILLE. 

"  P.S.  Do  not,  my  lord,  take  the  trouble  to  write  an  answer. 
I  shall  be  at  home  all  the  evening." 


380  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

However  rejoiced  Rodolph  felt  at  having  been  the  happy  in- 
strument of  good  to  Madame  d'Harville,  he  yet  could  not  help 
regretting  the  sort  of  forced  intimacy  which  this  circumstance 
all  at  once  established  between '  himself  and  the  marquise. 
Deeply  struck  with  the  graceful  vivacity  and  extreme  beauty  of 
Clemence,  yet  wholly  incapable  of  infringing  upon  the  friend- 
ship which  existed  between  himself  and  the  marquis,  Rodolph, 
directly  he  became  aware  of  the  passion  which  was  springing 
up  in  his  heart  for  the  wife  of  his  friend,  almost  denied  himself 
(after  having  previously  devoted  a  whole  month  to  the  most 
assiduous  attentions)  the  pleasure  of  beholding  her.  And  now, 
too,  he  recollected  with  much  emotion  the  conversation  he  had 
overheard  at  the  embassy  between  -Tom  and  Sarah,  when  the 
latter,  by  way  of  accounting  for  her  hatred  and  jealousy,  had 
affirmed,  and  not  without  truth,  that  Madame  d'Harville  still 
felt,  even  unknown  to  herself,  a  serious  affection  for  Rodolph. 

Sarah  was  too  acute,  too  penetrating,  too  well  versed  in  the 
knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  not  to  be  well  aware  that 
Clemence,  believing  herself  scorned  by  a  man  who  had  made 
so  deep  an  impression  on  her  heart,  and  yielding,  from  the 
effects  of  her  irritated  feelings,  to  the  importunities  of  a  per- 
fidious friend,  might  be  induced  to  interest  herself  in  the  imagin- 
ary woes  of  M.  Charles  Robert,  without,  consequently,  forgetting 
Rodolph.  Other  women,  faithful  to  the  memory  of  a  man  they 
had  once  distinguished,  would  have  remained  indifferent  to  the 
melancholy  looks  of  the  commandant.  Clemence  d'Harville 
was  therefore  doubly  blamable,  although  she  had  only  yielded  to 
the  seduction  of  unhappiness,  and,  fortunately  for  her,  had  been 
preserved  alike  by  a  keen  sense  of  duty  and  the  remembrance  of 
the  prince  (which  still  lurked  in  her  heart,  and  kept  faithful 
watch  over  it)  from  the  commission  of  an  irreparable  fault. 

A  thousand  contradictory  emotions  disturbed  the  mind  of 
Rodolph,  as  he  thought  of  his  interview  with  Madame  d'Har- 
ville. Firmly  resolved  to  resist  the  predilection  which  attracted 
him  to  her  society,  sometimes  he  congratulated  himself  on  being 
able  to  cast  off  his  love  for  her  by  the  recollection  of  her  having 
entangled  herself  with  such  a  being  as  Charles  Robert;  and  the 
next  instant  he  bitterly  deplored  seeing  the  flattering  veil  with 
which  he  had  invested  his  idol  fall  to  the  ground. 


Clemence  d'Harville,  on  her  part,  awaited  the  approaching  in- 
terview with  much  anxiety;  but  the  two  prevailing  sentiments 
pervaded  her  breast  were  painful  confusion,  when  she  re- 


CLEMENCE  D'HARVILLE.  381 

membered  the  interference  of  Bodolph,  and  a  fixed  aversion 
when  she  thought  of  M.  Charles  Robert:  and  many  reasons 
were  concerned  in  this  feeling  of  dislike  almost  approaching 
hatred  itself.  A  woman  will  risk  her  honor  or  her  life  for  a  man, 
but  she  will  never  pardon  him  for  having  placed  her  in  a  mortify- 
ing or  a  ridiculous  situation. 

Madame  d'Harville  felt  her  cheeks  flush,  and  her  pulse  beat 
rapidly,  as  she  indignantly  recalled  the  insulting  looks  and  im- 
pertinent remarks  of  Madame  Pipelet:  nor  was  this  all;  after 
receiving  from  Rodolph  an  intimation  of  the  danger  she  was  in- 
curring, Clemence  had  proceeded  rapidly  toward  the  fifth  floor, 
as  directed,  but  the  position  of  the  staircase  was  such  that,  as  she 
hurried  on,  she  perceived  M.  Charles  Robert  in  his  dazzling  robe 
de  chambre,  at  the  very  instant  when,  recognizing  the  light  step 
of  the  woman  he  expected,  he,  with  a  self-satisfied,  confident, 
and  triumphant  look,  set  the  door  of  his  apartment  half  open. 
The  air  of  insolent  familiarity,  expressed  by  the  negligee  toilette 
he  had  assumed,  quickly  enabled  the  marquise  to  perceive  how 
entirely  she  had  been  mistaken  in  his  character.  Led  away  by 
the  kindness  and  goodness  of  her  heart,  and  the  generosity  of  her 
disposition,  to  take  a  step  which  might  forever  destroy  her  repu- 
tation, she  had  accorded  this  meeting,  not  from  love,  but  solely 
from  commiseration,  in  order  to  console  him  for  the  ridiculous 
part  the  bad  taste  of  the  Duke  de  Lucenay  had  made  him  play 
before  her  at  the  embassy.  Words  can  ill  describe  the  disgust 
and  vexation  with  which  Madame  d'Harville  beheld  the  slip- 
shod deshabille  of  the  commandant,  implying  as  it  did  his 
opinion  how  completely  her  ill-judged  condescension  had  broken 
down  the  barriers  of  etiquette,  and  led  him  to  consider  no 
further  respect  towards  her  necessary. 

The  timepiece  in  the  small  salon  which  Madame  d'Harville 
ordinarily  occupied  struck  nine  o'clock.  Dressmakers  and 
tavern-keepers  have  so  much  abused  the  style  of  Louis  XV.  and 
the  Renaissance,  that  the  marquise,  a  woman  of  infinite  taste, 
had  excluded  from  her  apartments  this  description  of  ornament, 
now  become  so  vulgarized,  and  confined  it  to  that  part  of  the 
hotel  devoted  to  the  reception  of  visitors  and  grand  entertain- 
ments. Nothing  could  be  more  elegant  or  more  distingue  than 
the  fitting  up  of  the  salon  in  which  the  marquise  awaited  Ro- 
dolph. The  color  of  the  walls  as  well  as  the  curtains  (which, 
without  either  valances  or  draperies,  were  -of  Indian  texture) 
was  bright  straw  color,  on  which  were  embroidered,  in  a  darker 
shade,  in  unwrought  silk,  arabesques  of  the  most  beautiful  de- 
signs and  whimsical  devices.  Double  curtains  of  point 


382  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

d'Alengon  entirely  concealed  the  windows.  The  rosewood  doors 
were  set  off  with  gold  moldings,  most  beautifully  carved,  sur- 
rounding in  each  panel  an  oval  medallion  of  Sevres  china,  nearly 
a  foot  in  diameter,  representing  a  numberless  variety  of  birds 
and  flowers  of  surpassing  brilliancy  and  beauty.  The  frames  of 
the  looking-glasses  and  the  cornices  of  the  curtains  were  also  of 
rosewood,  ornamented  with  similar  raised  work  of  silver  gilt. 
The  white  marble  mantelpiece,  with  its  supporting  Caryatides  of 
antique  beauty  and  exquisite  grace,  was  from  the  chisel  of  the 
proud  and  imperious  Marochetti,  that  great  artist  having  con- 
sented to  sculpture  this  delicious  chef-d'oBuvre  in  imitation  of 
Benvenuto  Cellini,  who  disdained  not  to  model  ewers  and  armor. 
Two  candelabras,  and  two  candlesticks  of  vermeil,  forming 
groups  of  small  figures  beautifully  executed,  stood  on  either  side 
of  the  timepiece,  which  was  formed  of  a  square  block  of  lapis- 
lazuli  raised  on  a  pedestal  of  Oriental  jasper,  and  surmounted 
with  a  large  and  magnificently  enameled  golden  cup,  richly 
studded  with  rubies  and  pearls,  once  the  property  of  the  Floren- 
tine Eepublic.  Several  excellent  pictures  of  the  Venetian 
school,  of  middle  size,  completed  this  assemblage  of  elegance  and 
refined  taste. 

Thanks  to  a  most  charming  invention  but  recently  introduced, 
this  splendid  yet  simple  apartment  was  lighted  only  by  the  soft 
rays  of  a  lamp,  the  unground  surface  of  whose  crystal  globe  was 
half  hid  among  a  mass  of  real  flowers,  contained  in  an  im- 
mensely large  and  deep  blue  and  gold  Japan  cup,  suspended 
from  the  ceiling  like  a  luster  by  three  chains  of  vermeil,  round 
which  were  entwined  the  green  stalks  of  several  climbing  plants; 
while  some  of  the  flexible  branches,  thickly  laden  with  flowers, 
overhanging  the  edge  of  the  cup  and  hanging  gracefully  down, 
formed  a  waving  fringe  of  fresh  verdure,  beautifully  contrasting 
with  the  blue  and  gold  enamel  of  the  purple  porcelain. 

We  have  been  thus  precise  in  these  details,  trifling  as  they 
may  seem,  in  order  to  give  some  idea  of  the  exquisite  taste 
possessed  by  Madame  d'Harville  (the  most  invariable  companion 
of  an  elevated  mind),  and  also  because  misfortunes  always  strike 
us  as  more  poignantly  cruel  when  they  insinuate  themselves  into 
abodes  like  this,  the  favored  possessors  of  which  seem  gifted 
by  Providence  with  everything  to  make  life  happy  and  envi- 
able. 

Buried  in  the  downy  softness  of  a  large  arm-chair,  totally 
covered  by  the  same  straw-colored  Indian  silk  as  formed  the  rest 
of  the  hangings,  Clemence  d'Harville  sat,  awaiting  the  arrival 
of  Eodolph.  Her  hair  was  arranged  in  the  most  simple  manner. 


CLEMENCE  D'HARVILLE.  383 

She  wore  a  high  dress  of  black  velvet,  which  well  displayed  the 
beauty  and  admirable  workmanship  of  her  large  collar  and  cuffs 
of  English  lace,  which  prevented  the  extreme  black  of  the  velvet 
from  contrasting  too  harshly  with  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  her 
throat  and  hands. 

In  proportion  as  the  hour  approached  for  her  interview  with 
Rodolph,  the  emotion  of  the  marquise  increased ;  but  by  degrees 
her  embarrassment  ceased,  and  firmer  resolves  took  possession  of 
her  mind.  After  a  long  and  mature  reflection  she  came  to  the 
determination  of  confiding  to  Rodolph  a  great,  a  cruel  secret, 
hoping  by  her  frankness  to  win  back  that  esteem  she  now  so 
highly  prized.  Awakened  by  gratitude,  her  pristine  admiration 
of  Rodolph  returned  with  fresh  force;  one  of  those  secret 
whispers,  which  rarely  deceives  the  heart  that  loves,  told  her  that 
chance  alone  had  not  brought  the  prince  so  opportunely  to  her 
succor,  and  that  his  studied  avoidance  of  her  society  during  the 
last  few  months  had  originated  in  anything  but  indifference  A 
vague  suspicion  also  arose  in  her  mind  as  to  the  reality  and  sin- 
cerity of  the  affection  Sarah  professed  for  her. 

While  deeply  meditating  on  all  these  things  a  valet  de 
chambre,  having  first  gently  tapped  at  the  door,  entered,  say- 
ing*— 

"  Will  it  please  you,  my  lady,  to  see  Madame  Ashton  and  my 
young  lady  ?  " 

Madame  d'Harville  made  an  affirmative  gesture  of  assent,  and 
a  little  girl  slowly  entered  the  room. 

The  child  was  about  four  years  old,  and  its  countenance  would 
have  been  a  very  charming  one  but  for  its  sickly  pallor  and  ex- 
treme meagerness.  Madame  Ashton,  the  governess,  held  it  by 
the  hand,  but,  directly  Claire  (that  was  the  name  of  the  little 
girl)  saw  her  mother,  she  opened  her  arms,  and,  spite  of  her 
feebleness,  ran  towards  her.  Her  light  brown  hair  was  plaited, 
'and  tied  at  each  side  of  her  forehead  with  bows  of  cherry- 
colored  ribbon.  Her  health  was  so  delicate  that  she  wore  a 
wrapping  dress  of  dark  brown  silk  instead  of  one  of  those  pretty 
little  white  muslin  frocks  trimmed  with  ribbons  of  a  similar 
color  as  those  in  the  hair,  and  well  cut  over  the  bosom  to  show 
the  plump,  pinky  arms,  and  smooth,  fair  shoulders,  so  lovely  in 
healthy  children.  So  sunken  were  the  cheeks  of  poor  Claire  that 
her  large  dark  eyes  looked  quite  enormous.  But,  spite  of  every 
appearance  of  weakness,  a  sweet  and  gentle  smile  lit  up  her 
small  features  when  she  was  placed  on  the  lap  of  her  mother, 
whom  she  kissed  and  embraced  with  intense  yet  mournful 
affection. 


384  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"How  has  she  been  of  late,  Madame  Ashton?"  inquired 
Madame  d'Harville  of  the  governess. 

"  Tolerably  well,  madame ;  although  at  one  time  I  greatly 
feared." 

"  Again !  "  cried  Clemence,  pressing  her  daughter  to  her  heart 
with  a  movement  of  involuntary  horror. 

"  Fortunately,  madame,  I  was  mistaken,"  said  the  governess, 
"and  the  whole  passed  away  without  any  further  alarm;  Ma- 
demoiselle Claire  became  composed,  and  merely  suffered  from  a 
momentary  feeling  of  weakness.  She  has  not  slept  much  this 
afternoon,  but  I  could  not  coax  her  to  bed  without  allowing  her 
the  pleasure  of  paying  a  visit  to  you." 

"  Dear  little  angel ! "  cried  Madame  d'Harville,  covering  her 
daughter  with  kisses. 

The  interesting  child  repaid  her  mother's  caresses  with  in- 
fantine delight,  when  the  groom  of  the  chambers  entered,  and 
announced, — 

"  His  royal  highness  the  Grand  Duke  of  Gerolstein." 

Claire,  standing  on  her  mother's  lap,  had  thrown  her  arms 
about  her  neck,  and  was  clasping  her  with  all  the  force  of  which 
her  tiny  arms  were  capable.  At  the  sight  of  Eodolph,  Clemence 
blushed  deeply,  set  her  child  gently  down  on  the  carpet,  and 
signed  to  Madame  Ashton  to  take  her  away;  she  then  rose  to 
receive  her  guest. 

"  You  must  give  me  leave,"  said  Rodolph,  smilingly,  after 
having  respectfully  bowed  to  the  marquise,  "  to  renew  my  ac- 
quaintance with  my  little  friend  here,  who  I  fear  has  almost 
forgotten  me." 

And,  stooping  down  a  little,  he  extended  his  hand  to  Claire, 
who,  first  gazing  at  him  with  her  large  eyes,  curiously  scrutinized 
his  features,  then,  recognizing  him,  she  made  a  gentle  inclination 
of  the  head,  and  blew  him  a  kiss  from  the  tips  of  her  small,  thin 
fingers. 

"  You  remember  my  lord,  then,  my  child  ?  "  asked  Clemence 
of  little  Claire,  who  gave  an  assenting  nod,  and  kissed  her  hand 
to  Rodolph  a  second  time. 

"  Her  health  appears  to  me  much  improved  since  I  last  saw 
her,"  said  he,  addressing  himself  with  unfeigned  interest  to 
Clemence. 

"Thank  Heaven,  my  lord,  she  is  better,  though  still  sadly 
delicate  and  suffering." 

The  marquise  and  the  prince,  mutually  embarrassed  at  the 
thoughts  of  the  approaching  interview,  would  have  been  equally 
glad  to  defer  its  commencement,  through  the  medium  of  Claire's 


i 


CLEMENCE  D'HARVILLE.  385 

presence;  but,  the  discreet  Madame  Ashton  having  taken  her 
away,  Rodolph  and  Clemence  were  left  quite  alone. 

The  arm-chair  in  which  Madame  d'Harville  was  reclining 
stood  on  the  right  hand  of  the  chimney,  and  Rodolph  remained, 
without  attempting  to  seat  himself,  gracefully  leaning  his  elbow 
on  the  mantelpiece.  Never  had  Clemence  been  so  strongly  im- 
pressed with  admiration  at  the  noble  and  prepossessing  appear- 
ance of  the  prince;  never  had  his  voice  sounded  more  gentle  or 
sweet  upon  her  ear.  Fully  understanding  how  painful  it  must 
be  to  the  marquise  to  open  the  conversation,  Rodolph  at  once 
proceeded  to  the  main  point  by  observing, — 

"  You  have  been,  madame,  the  victim  of  a  base  and  treach- 
erous action.  A  cowardly  and  dishonorable  disclosure  on  the 
part  of  the  Countess  Macgregor  has  well-nigh  effected  irre- 
mediable mischief." 

"  Is  it,  indeed,  so?"  exclaimed  Clemence,  painfully  surprised; 
"  then  my  presentiments  were  not  ill-founded !  And  by  what 
means  did  your  royal  highness  discover  this  ?  " 

"  Last  night,  at  the  ball  given  by  the  Countess  C  *  *  *,  I  dis- 
covered this  infamous  secret.  I  was  sitting  in  a  lone  part  of  the 
'  Winter  Garden/  when  Countess  Sarah  and  her  brother,  uncon- 
scious that  a  mass  of  verdure  alone  concealed  me  from  them, 
while  it  enabled  me  to  hear  each  word  they  spoke,  began  con- 
versing freely  upon  their  own  projects,  and  the  snare  they  had 
spread  for  you.  Anxious  to  warn  you  of  the  danger  with  which 
you  were  threatened,  I  hastened  to  Madame  de  Nerval's  ball, 
hoping  to  meet  you  there,  but  you  did  not  appear.  To  write 
and  direct  my  letter  here  was  to  incur  the  risk  of  its  falling  into 
the  hands  of  the  marquis,  whose  suspicions  were  already  aroused 
by  your  treacherous  friend;  and  I  therefore  preferred  awaiting 
your  arrival  in  the  Rue  du  Temple,  that  I  might  unfold  to  you 
the  perfidy  of  Countess  Macgregor.  Let  me  hope  you  will 
pardon  my  thus  long  dwelling  on  a  subject  which  must  be 
so  painful  to  you.  And,  but  for  the  few  lines  you  were  kind 
enough  to  write,  never  would  my  lips  have  in  any  way  reverted 
to  it." 

After  a  momentary  silence,  Madame  d'Harville  said  to 
Rodolph,— 

"  There  is  but  one  way,  my  lord,  in  which  I  can  prove  to  you 
my  gratitude  for  your  late  generous  conduct.  It  is  to  confess  to 
you  that  which  I  have  never  revealed  to  a  human  being.  What 
I  have  to  say  will  not  exculpate  me  in  your  estimation,  but  it 
will,  perhaps,  enable  you  to  make  some  allowances  for  my  im- 
prudence." 


386  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"Candidly  speaking,  madame,"  said  Rodolph,  smiling,  "my 
position  as  regards  you  is  a  very  embarrassing  one." 

Clemence,  astonished  at  the  almost  jesting  tone  in  which  he 
spoke,  looked  at  Rodolph  with  extreme  surprise,  while  she  said, 
"  How  so,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  Thanks  to  a  circumstance  you  are  doubtless  acquainted  with, 
I  am  obliged  to  assume  the  grave  airs  of  a  Mentor  touching  an 
incident  which,  since  you  have  so  happily  escaped  the  vile  snare 
laid  for  you  by  Countess  Sarah,  scarcely  merits  being  treated 
with  so  much  importance.  But,"  continued  Rodolph,  with  a 
slight  shade  of  gentle  and  affectionate  earnestness,  "your  hus- 
band and  myself  are  almost  as  brothers;  and,  before  our  time, 
our  fathers  had  vowed  the  sincerest  friendship  for  each  other. 
I  have,  therefore,  a  double  motive  in  most  warmly  congratulat- 
ing you  on  having  secured  the  peace  and  happiness  of  your 
husband ! " 

"  And  it  is  from  my  knowledge  of  the  high  regard  and  esteem 
with  which  you  honor  M.  d'Harville,  that  I  have  determined 
upon  revealing  the  whole  truth,  as  well  as  to  explain  myself 
relative  to  an  interest  which  must  appear  to  you  as  ill-chosen 
and  unworthy  as  it  now  seems  to  me.  I  wish  also  to  clear  up 
that  part  of  my  conduct  which  bears  an  injurious  appearance 
against  the  tranquillity  and  honor  of  him  your  highness  styles 
'  almost  a  brother.'  " 

"  Believe  me,  madame,  I  shall  at  all  times  be  most  proud  and 
happy  to  receive  the  smallest  proof  of  your  confidence.  Yet 
permit  me  to  say,  as  regards  the  interest  you  speak  of,  that  I 
am  perfectly  aware  it  originated  as  much  in  sincere  pity  as  from 
the  constant  importunities  of  Countess  Sarah  Macgregor,  who 
had  her  own  reasons  for  seeking  to  injure  you.  And  I  also 
know  equally  well  that  you  long  hesitated  ere  you  could  make 
up  your  mind  to  take  the  step  you  now  so  much  regret. 

Clemence  looked  at  the  prince  with  surprise. 

"  You  seem  astonished !  Well,  that  you  may  not  fancy  I 
dabble  in  witchcraft,  some  of  these  days  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
it,"  said  Rodolph,  smiling.  "But  your  husband  is  perfectly 
tranquillized,  is  he  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  said  Clemence,  looking  down  in  much  con- 
fusion; "and  it  is  most  painful  to  me  to  hear  him  asking  my 
pardon  for  having  ever  suspected  me,  and  then  eulogizing  my 
modest  silence  respecting  my  good  deeds." 

"  Nay,  do  not  chide  an  illusion  which  renders  him  so  happy. 
On  the  contrary,  endeavor  to  maintain  the  innocent  deception. 
Were  it  not  forbidden  to  treat  your  late  adventure  lightly,  and 


CLEMENCE  ITHARVILLE.  387 

had  not  you,  madame,  been  so  much  involved  in  it,  I  would  say 
that  a  woman  never  appears  more  charming  in  the  eyes  of  her 
husband  than  when  she  has  some  fault  to  conceal.  It  is  incon- 
ceivable how  many  little  cajoleries,  and  what  winning  smiles, 
are  employed  to  ease  a  troubled  conscience.  When  I  was 
young,"  added  Rodolph,  smiling ;  "  I  always,  in  spite  of  myself, 
mistrusted  any  unusual  marks  of  tenderness.  And,  by  the  same 
rule,  I  can  say  of  myself,  that  I  never  felt  more  disposed  to 
appear  in  an  amiable  light  than  when  I  was  conscious  of  re- 
quiring forgiveness.  So,  directly  I  perceived  a  more  than  or- 
dinary anxiety  to  please  and  gratify  me,  I  was  very  sure 
(judging  by  my  own  conduct)  to  ascribe  it  to  some  little  pecca- 
dillo that  needed  overlooking  and  pardoning." 

The  light  tone  with  which  Rodolph  continued  to  discuss  an 
affair  which  might  have  been  attended  with  circumstances  so 
fearful,  at  first  excited  Madame  d'Harville's  wonder;  but  she 
quickly  perceived  that  the  prince,  beneath  this  outward  appear- 
ance of  trifling,  sought  to  conceal,  or  at  least  lessen,  the  im- 
portance of  the  service  he  had  rendered  her.  And,  profoundly 
touched  with  his  delicacy,  she  said, — 

"  I  conprehend  your  generous  meaning,  my  lord ;  and  you  are 
fully  at  liberty  to  jest  and  forget  as  much  as  you  like  the  peril 
from  which  you  have  preserved  me.  But  that  which  I  have  to 
relate  to  you  is  of  so  grave,  so  serious,  and  mournful  a  nature — 
is  so  closely  connected  with  the  events  of  this  morning — and 
your  advice  may  so  greatly  benefit  me — that  I  beseech  you  to 
remember  that  to  you  I  owe  both  my  honor  and  my  life:  yes, 
my  lord — my  life !  My  husband  was  armed ;  and  he  has  owned, 
in  the  excess  of  his  repentance,  that  it  was  his  intention  to  have 
killed  me,  had  his  suspicions  proved  correct." 

"  Great  God  !  "  exclaimed  Rodolph,  with  emotion. 

"  And  he  would  have  been  justified  in  so  doing,"  rejoined 
Madame  d'Harville,  bitterly. 

"  I  beseech  you,  madame,"  said  Rodolph, — and  this  time  he 
spoke  with  deep  seriousness, — "  I  beseech  you  to  be  assured  I 
am  incapable  of  being  careless  or  indifferent  to  any  matter  in 
which  you  are  concerned.  If  I  seemed  but  now  to  jest,  it  was 
but  to  make  you  think  less  of  a  circumstance  which  has  already 
occasioned  you  so  much  pain.  But  now,  madame,  you  may 
command  my  most  solemn  attention.  Since  you  honor  me  by 
saying  my  advice  may  be  useful,  I  listen  most  anxiously  and 
eagerly. 

"You  can,  indeed,  counsel  me  most  beneficially,  my  lord. 
But,  before  I  explain  to  you  my  reasons  for  seeking  your  aid, 


388  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

I  must  say  a  few  words  concerning  a  period  of  which  you  are 
ignorant — I  mean  the  years  which  preceded  my  marriage  with 
M.  d'Harville." 

Kodolph  bowed,  and  Clemence  continued, — 

"At  sixteen  years  of  age  I  lost  my  mother  (and  here  a  tear 
stole  down  the  fair  cheek  of  Madame  d'Harville).  I  cannot 
attempt  to  describe  how  much  I  adored  that  beloved  parent. 
Imagine,  my  lord,  the  very  personification  of  all  earthly  good- 
ness. Her  fondness  for  me  was  excessive,  and  appeared  her  only 
consolation  amid  the  many  bitter  sorrows  she  had  to  endure. 
Caring  but  little  for  what  is  styled  the  world,  with  delicate 
health,  and  a  natural  predilection  for  sedentary  occupation,  her 
great  delight  had  been  in  attending  solely  to  my  education,  and 
her  ample  store  of  solid  and  varied  knowledge  well  fitted  her 
for  the  task.  Conceive,  my  lord,  her  astonishment  and  mine 
when,  in  my  sixteenth  year,  my  dear  preceptress  considered  my 
education  nearly  completed,  my  father — making  the  feeble 
health  of  my  mother  a  pretext — announced  to  us  that  a  young 
and  accomplished  widow,  whose  misfortunes  rendered  her  justly 
interesting,  would  henceforward  be  charged  with  finishing  what 
my  dear  parent  had  begun.  My  mother  at  first  resolutely  refused 
obedience  to  my  father's  command,  while  'I  in  vain  besought 
him  not  to  interpose  a  stranger's  authority  between  myself  and 
my  beloved  mother.  He  was  inexorable  alike  to  our  tears  and 
prayers,  and  Madame  Roland,  who  stated  herself  to  be  the 
widow  of  a  colonel  who  had  died  in  India,  came  to  take  up  her 
abode  with  us,  in  the  character  of  governess  to  myself." 

"  What !  the  same  Madame  Roland  your  father  married 
almost  immediately  after  the  death  of  your  mother  ?  " 

"  The  same,  my  lord," 

"  Was  she,  then,  very  beautiful  ?  " 

"  Tolerably  so — nothing  more." 

"  Clever — witty — perhaps  ?  " 

"  She  was  a  clever  dissembler — a  skilful  maneuverer ;  her 
talent  went  no  higher.  She  might  be  about  five-and-twenty 
years  of  age,  with  extremely  light  hair  and  nearly  white  eye- 
lashes; her  eyes  were  large,  round,  and  a  clear  blue;  the  expres- 
sion of  her  countenance  was  humble  and  gentle ;  and  while  her 
outward  manner  was  attentive,  even  to  servility,  her  real  dis- 
position was  as  perfidious  as  it  was  unfeeling." 

"And  what  were  her  acquirements?" 

"  Positively  none  at  all,  my  lord ;  and  I  cannot  conceive  how 
my  father,  who  until  then  had  been  so  completely  a  slave  to  the 
dictates  of  worldly  propriety,  did  not  reflect  that  the  utter  in- 


CLEMENCE  D'HARVILLE.  339 

capacity  of  this  woman  must  shamefully  proclaim  the  real  cause 
of  her  being  in  the  house.  My  mother  earnestly  pointed  out  to 
him  the  extreme  ignorance  of  Madame  Roland ;  he,  however, 
merely  replied,  in  a  tone  which  admitted  of  no  further  argu- 
ment, that,  competent  or  otherwise,  the  young  and  interesting 
widow  should  retain  the  situation  in  his  establishment  in  which 
he  had  placed  her.  This  I  heard  subsequently.  From  that 
instant  my  poor  mother  comprehended  the  whole  affair,  over 
which  she  deeply  grieved;  regretting  less,  I  fancy,  her  husband's 
infidelity  than  the  domestic  unhappiness  which  would  result 
from  so  indecorous  a  liaison  the  account  of  which  she  feared 
might  reach  my  ears." 

"  But,  even  so  far  as  his  foolish  passion  was  concerned,  it 
seems  to  me  that  your  father  acted  very  unwisely  in  introducing 
this  woman  into  his  house." 

"  And  you  would  be  still  more  at  a  loss  to  understand  his  con- 
duct if  you  had  but  known  the  extreme  formality  and  circum- 
spection of  his  character.  Nothing  could  ever  have  induced 
him  thus  to  trample  under  foot  all  the  established  rules  of  society 
but  the  unbounded  influence  of  Madame  Roland, — an  influence 
she  exercised  with  so  much  the  more  certainty  as  she  veiled 
her  designs  under  the  mask  of  the  most  passionate  love  for 
him." 

"  But  what  was  your  father's  age  then  ?  " 

"  About  sixty/' 

"  And  he  really  credited  the  professions  of  love  made  by  so 
much  younger  a  woman  ?  " 

"  My  father  had  been  in  his  time  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
and  admired  men  of  the  day.  And  Madame  Roland,  either  fol- 
lowing the  suggestions  of  her  own  artful  mind  or  urged  on  by 
the  counsels  of  others,  who  could  countenance  much  more " 

"  Counsel  such  a  person !  " 

"  I  will  tell  you,  my  lord.  Imagining  that  a  man  whose  repu- 
tation for  gallantry  had  always  stood  high  in  the  world  would, 
as  he  advanced  in  years,  be  more  easily  delighted  than  another  by 
being  flattered  upon  his  personal  advantages,  and  more  credu- 
lously receive  such  compliments  as  served  to  recall  those  days 
most  soothing  to  his  vanity  to  remember,  well,  my  lord,  incred- 
ible as  it  may  appear,  this  woman  began  to  flatter  my  poor  mis- 
guided father  upon  the  graceful  tournure  of  his  features  and  the 
inimitable  elegance  of  his  shape.  And  he  in  his  sixtieth  year! 
Strange  as  you  may  consider  it,  spite  of  the  excellent  sense  with 
which  my  father  was  endowed,  he  fell  blindly  into  the  snare, 
coarse  and  vulgar  as  it  was.  Such  was — such  still  is,  I  doubt 


390  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARI8. 

not,  the  secret  of  the  unbounded  influence  this  woman  obtained 
over  him.  And  really,  my  lord,  spite  of  my  present  disinclination 
for  mirth,  I  can  scarcely  restrain  a  smile  at  the  recollection  of 
having  frequently,  before  my  marriage,  heard  Madame  Koland 
assert  and  maintain  that  what  she  styled  real  maturity  was  the 
finest  portion  of  a  person's  existence,  and  that  this  maturity 
never  began  until  about  the  fifty-fifth  or  sixtieth  year  of  one's 
age." 

"  I  suppose  that  happened  to  be  your  father's  age  ?  " 

"  Precisely  so,  my  lord !  Then,  and  then  only,  according  to 
Madame  Roland,  had  the  understanding,  combined  with  ex- 
perience, attained  their  full  development:  then  only  could  a 
man,  occupying  a  distinguished  position  in  the  world,  enjoy  the 
consideration  to  which  he  was  entitled;  at  that  period  only  were 
the  tout-ensemble  of  his  countenance,  and  the  exquisite  grace 
of  his  manners,  in  their  highest  perfection;  the  physiognomy 
offering  at  this  delightful  epoch  of  a  man's  life  a  heavenly 
mixture  of  winning  serenity  and  gentle  gravity.  Then  the 
slight  tinge  of  melancholy,  caused  by  the  many  recollections 
of  past  deceit  experience  is  fain  to  look  back  upon,  completes 
the  irresistible  charm  of  real  maturity;  unappreciable  (Madame 
Roland  hastily  added)  except  by  women  with  head  and  heart 
sufficiently  good  to  despise  the  youthful  frivolity  of  a  poor, 
inexperienced  forty  years,  when  the  character  and  countenance 
can  scarcely  be  called  formed,  and  when  good  taste  turns  away 
from  the  boyish  folly  of  such  an  immature  season  of  life,  and 
seeks  the  fine,  majestic  features  impressed  with  the  sublime  and 
poetic  expression  resulting  from  a  sixty  years'  study  of  the  vast 
book  of  human  existence." 

Rodolph  could  not  restrain  smiling  at  the  powerful  irony  with 
which  Madame  d'Harville  sketched  the  portrait  of  her  mother- 
in-law. 

"  There  is  one  thing,"  said  he  to  the  marquise,  "  for  which  I 
cannot  forgive  ridiculous  people." 

"  What  is  that,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  The  being  also  wicked ;  which  prevents  our  being  able  to. 
laugh  at  them  as  much  as  they  deserve." 

"They  probably  calculate  upon  that  available  advantage," 
replied  Clemence. 

"  Indeed,  it  is  very  probable,  though  equally  lamentable,  for, 
if  it  were  not  for  the  recollection  of  all  the  pain  Madame  Roland 
has  occasioned  you,  I  could  be  highly  diverted  with  her  system 
of  real  maturity  as  opposed  to  the  insipidity  of  mere  boys  of  only 
forty  years  of  age,  who,  according  to  her  assertion,  would  be 


CLEMENCE  D'HARVILLE.  391 

scarcely  out  of  their  leading-strings,  as  our  grandfathers  and 
grandmothers  would  say." 

"  What  principally  excited  my  aversion  for  her  was  the  shame- 
fulness  of  her  conduct  towards  my  dear  mother,  and  the 
unfortunately  over-zealous  part  she  took  in  my  marriage,'*  said 
the  marquise,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

Rodolph  looked  at  her  with  much  surprise. 

"  Nay,  my  lord,"  said  Clemence,  in  a  firm,  though  gentle  tone, 
"  I  well  remember  that  M.  d'Harville  is  your  friend  and  my 
husband.  I  know  perfectly  the  grave  importance  of  the  words  I 
have  just  uttered :  hereafter  you  yourself  shall  admit  the  justice 
of  them.  But  to  return  to  Madame  Roland,  who  was  now,  spite 
of  her  acknowledged  incapacity,  established  as  my  instructress: 
my  mother  had  a  long  and  most  painful  altercation  with  my 
father  on  the  subject,  which  drew  down  on  us  his  extreme  dis- 
pleasure, and  from  that  period  my  mother  and  myself  remained 
secluded  in  our  apartments,  while  Madame  Roland,  in  quality 
of  my  governess,  directed  the  whole  household,  and  almost 
publicly  did  the  honors  of  the  mansion." 

"  What  must  your  mother  have  suffered ! " 

"  She  did  indeed,  my  lord ;  but  her  sorrow  was  less  for  herself 
than  me,  whose  future  destiny  might  be  so  deeply  affected  by 
the  introduction  of  this  woman.  Her  health,  always  delicate, 
became  daily  weaker,  and  she  fell  seriously  ill.  It  chanced, 
most  unfortunately,  that  our  family  doctor,  M.  Sorbier,  in 
whom  she  had  the  highest  confidence,  died  about  this  period, 
to  my  mother's  extreme  regret.  Madame  Roland  immediately 
urged  my  father  to  place  my  mother's  case  in  the  hands  of  an 
Italian  doctor,  a  particular  friend  of  her  own,  and  whom  she 
described  as  possessing  a  more  than  ordinary  skill  in  the  treat- 
ment of  diseases.  Thanks  to  her  importunities,  my  father,  who 
had  himself  consulted  him  in  trifling  maladies,  and  found  DO 
cause  to  be  dissatisfied,  proposed  him  to  my  mother,  who,  alas ! 
raised  no  objection.  And  this  man  it  was  who  attended  upon 
her  during  her  last  illness." 

Tears  filled  the  eyes  of  Madame  d'Harville  as  she  uttered  these 
words. 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  confess  my  weakness,  my  lord,"  added  she ; 
"  but,  for  the  simple  reason  of  this  doctor  having  been  appointed 
at  the  suggestion  of  Madame  Roland,  he  inspired  me  (and  at 
that  time  without  any  cause)  with  the  most  involuntary  repug- 
nance, and  it  was  with  the  most  painful  misgivings  I  saw  him 
established  in  my  mother's  confidence.  Still,  as  regarded  his 
knowledge  of  his  profession,  Doctor  Polidori " 


392  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"What  do  I  hear?"  exclaimed  Rodolph. 

"  Are  you  indisposed,  my  lord  ?  "  inquired  Clemence,  struck 
with  the  sudden  expression  the  prince's  countenance  had 
assumed. 

"  No,  no ! "  said  Rodolph,  as  though  unconscious  of  the 
presence  of  Madame  d'Harville,  "  no,  I  must  be  mistaken. 
Five  or  six  years  must  have  elapsed  since  all  this  occurred,  while 
I  am  informed  that  it  is  not  more  than  two  years  since  Polidori 
came  to  Paris,  and  then  under  a  feigned  name.  He  it  was  I 
saw  yesterday — I  am  sure  of  it — the  quack-dentist  Brada- 
manti  and  Polidori  are  one  and  the  same.  Still  'tis  singu- 
lar ;  two  doctors  of  the  same  name  * — what  a  strange  ren- 
counter !  " 

"  Madame,"  said  Rodolph,  turning  to  Madame  d'Harville, 
whose  astonishment  at  his  preoccupation  still  increased,  "  we 
will,  if  you  please,  compare  notes  as  to  this  Italian.  What  age 
was  he?" 

"  About  fifty." 

"  And  his  appearance — his  countenance  ?  " 

"  Most  sinister.  Never  shall  I  forget  his  clear,  piercing, 
green  eye,  and  his  nose  curved  like  the  bill  of  an  eagle." 

"'Tis  he— 'tis  he  himself!"  exclaimed  Rodolph.  "And  do 
you  think,  madame,  that  the  Doctor  Polidori  you  were  describing 
is  still  in  Paris?" 

"  That  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  lord.  He  quitted  Paris  about  a 
year  after  my  father's  marriage.  A  lady  of  my  acquaintance, 
who  at  this  period  also  employed  the  Italian  as  her  medical 
adviser — this  lady,  Madame  de  Lucenay " 

"  La  Duchesse  de  Lucenay  ?  "  interrupted  Rodolph. 

"  Yes,  my  lord.     But  why  this  surprise  ?  " 

"  Permit  me  to  be  silent  on  that  subject.  But,  at  the  time  of 
which  you  speak,  what  did  Madame  de  Lucenay  tell  you  of  this 
man  ?  " 

"  She  said  that  he  traveled  much  after  quitting  Paris,  and 
that  she  often  received  from  him  very  clever  and  amusing 
letters,  descriptive  of  the  various  places  he  visited.  Now  I 
recollect,  that  about  a  month  ago,  happening  to  ask  Madame  de 
Lucenay  whether  she  had  heard  lately  from  M.  Polidori,  she 
replied,  with  an  embarrassed  manner,  l  that  nothing  had  been 
heard  of  or  concerning  him  for  some  time;  that  no  one  knew 
what  had  become  of  him;  and  that  by  many  he  was  supposed 
to  be  dead/  " 

*  We  must  remind  the  reader,  that  Polidori  was  a  doctor  of  some  emi- 
nence when  he  undertook  the  education  of  Rodolph. 


CLEMENCE  D'lIARVILLE.  393 

"  Strange,  indeed,"  said  Eodolph,  recalling  the  recent  visit 
of  Madame  de  Lucenay  to  the  charlatan  Bradamanti. 

"  You  know  this  man,  then,  my  lord?  " 

"  Unfortunately  for  myself,  1  do ;  but  let  me  beseech  you  to 
continue  your  recital;  hereafter  I  will  give  you  an  insight  into 
the  history  of  this  Polidori." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  doctor  ?  " 

"Say,  rather,  the  wretch  stained  with  the  most  atrocious 
crimes." 

"  Crimes !  "  cried  Madame  d'Harville,  in  alarm ;  "  can  it  be 
possible,  the  man  whom  Madame  Roland  so  highly  extolled,  and 
into  whose  hands  my  poor  mother  was  delivered,  was  guilty  of 
crimes?  Alas,  my  dear  parent  lingered  but  a  very  short  time 
after  she  passed  into  his  care !  Ah,  my  lord,  my  presentiments 
have  not  deceived  me !  " 

"  Your  presentiments  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  was  telling  you  just  now  of  the  invincible 
antipathy  I  felt  for  this  man  from  the  circumstance  of  his 
having  been  introduced  among  us  by  Madame  Roland;  but  I  did 
not  tell  you  all,  my  lord." 

"How  so?"' 

"  I  was  fearful  lest  the  bitterness  of  my  own  griefs  should 
make  me  guilty  of  injustice  towards  an  innocent  person;  but 
now,  my  lord,  you  shall  know  everything.  My  mother  had  lain 
dangerously  ill  about  five  days,  I  had  always  watched  beside  her, 
night  as  well  as  day.  One  evening,  that  I  felt  much  oppressed 
with  confinement  and  fatigue,  I  went  to  breathe  the  fresh  air 
on  the  terrace  of  the  garden :  after  remaining  about  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  I  was  returning  by  a  long  and  obscure  gallery;  by  a 
faint  light  which  streamed  from  the  apartment  of  Madame 
Roland  I  saw  M.  Polidori  quit  the  room,  accompanied  by  the 
mistress  of  the  chamber.  Being  in  the  shadow,  they  did  not 
perceive  me,  Madame  Roland  spoke  some  words  to  the  doctor, 
but  in  so  low  a  tone  I  could  not  catch  them ;  the  doctor's  answer 
was  given  in  a  louder  key,  and  consisted  only  of  these  words, 
'  The  day  after  to-morrow; '  and,  when  Madame  Roland  seemed 
to  urge  him,  still  in  so  low  a  voice  as  to  prevent  the  words  reach- 
ing me,  he  replied,  with  singular  emphasis,  '  The  day  after  to- 
morrow, I  tell  you — the  day  after  to-morrow.' " 

"  What  could  those  words  mean  ?  " 

"What  did  they  mean?  Alas!  alas!  my  lord,  it  was  on  the 
Wednesday  evening  I  heard  M.  Polidori  say  '  The  day  after  to- 
morrow;' on  the  Friday  my  mother  was  a  corpse!" 

"  Horrible,  indeed !  " 


394:  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

After  this  mournful  event  I  was  consigned  to  the  care  of  a 
relation,  who,  forgetful  of  the  afflicted  state  of  my  mind,  as  well 
as  tender  age,  told  me,  without  reserve  or  consideration  of  the 
consequences,  what  powerful  reasons  there  were  for  my  hating 
Madame  Eoland,  and  fully  enlightened  me  as  to  the  ambitious 
projects  entertained  by  this  woman:  full  well  I  could  then 
imagine  all  my  poor  mother  must  have  endured.  I  thought 
my  heart  would  break  the  first  time  I  again  saw  my  father, 
which  was  upon  the  occasion  of  his  coming  to  fetch  me  from  the 
house  of  my  relation  to  take  me  into  Normandy,  where  we  were 
to  pass  the  first  months  of  our  mourning.  During  the  journey 
he  informed  me,  without  the  least  embarrassment,  and  as  though 
it  had  been  the  most  natural  thing -in  the  world,  that,  out  of 
regard  for  himself  and  me,  madame  had  kindly  consented  to 
take  the  command  of  the  establishment,  and  to  act  as  my  guide 
and  friend.  On  arriving  at  Aubiers  (so  was  my  father's  estate 
called),  the  first  object  we  beheld  was  Madame  Roland,  who  had 
established  herself  here  on  the  very  day  of  my  mother's  death. 
Spite  of  her  modest,  gentle  manner,  her  countenance  betrayed  an 
ill-disguised  triumph;  never  shall  I  forget  the  look,  at  once 
ironical  and  spiteful,  she  cast  on  me  as  I  descended  the  carriage ; 
it  seemed  to  say,  '  I  am  mistress  here, — 'tis  you  who  are  the 
intruder.'  A  fresh  grief  awaited  me:  whether  from  an  inex- 
cusable want  of  proper  judgment  or  unpardonable  assurance, 
this  woman  occupied  the  apartment  which  had  been  my  mother's: 
in  my  just  indignation  I  loudly  complained  to  my  father  of  this 
unpleasant  forgetfulness  of  my  rights  as  well  as  wishes.  He  rep- 
rimanded me  severely  for  making  any  remonstrance  on  the  sub- 
ject, adding,  that  it  was  needless  for  me  either  to  feel  or  express 
surprise  on  the  subject,  as  it  was  his  desire  I  should  habituate 
myself  to  consider  Madame  Eoland  in  every  respect  as  a  second 
mother,  and  show  her  a  corresponding  deference.  I  replied, 
that  it  would  be  a  profanation  to  that  sacred  name  to  act  as  he 
commanded;  and,  to  his  extreme  wrath,  I  never  allowed  any 
opportunity  to  escape  by  which  I  could  evince  my  deeply  rooted 
aversion  to  Madame  Roland.  At  times  my  father's  rage  knew 
no  bounds,  and  bitterly  would  he  reproach  me  in  the  presence 
of  that  woman  for  the  coldness  and  ingratitude  of  my  conduct 
towards  an  angel,  as  he  styled  her,  sent  by  Heaven  for  our 
consolation  and  happiness.  '  Let  me  entreat  of  you  to  speak  for 
yourself  alone,'  said  I,  one  day,  quite  wearied  with  the 
hypocritical  conduct  of  Madame  Roland  and  my  father's  blind 
infatuation.  The  harshness  and  unreasonableness  of  his  con- 
duct became  at  last  quite  unendurable;  while  Madame  Roland, 


CLEMENCB  VIIARVILLE.  395 

with  the  honeyed  words  of  feigned  affection,  would  artfully 
intercede  for  me,  because  she  well  knew  by  so  doing  she  should 
only  increase  the  storm  she  had  raised.  '  You  must  make  some 
allowances  for  Clemence/  she  would  say;  'the  sorrow  she  ex- 
periences for  the  excellent  parent  we  all  deplore  is  so  natural, 
and  even  praiseworthy,  that  you  should  respect  her  just  grief, 
and  pity  her  for  her  unfounded  suspicions/  '  You  hear  her !  you 
hear  her!'  would  my  father  exclaim,  pointing  with  mingled 
triumph  and  admiration  to  the  accomplished  hypocrite ;  '  what 
angelic  goodness !  what  enchanting  nobleness  and  generosity ! 
Instantly  entreat  her  pardon  for  the  unworthiness  of  your 
conduct/  '  Never ! '  I  used  to  reply ;  '  the  spirit  of  my  angel 
mother,  who  now  beholds  me,  would  be  pained  to  witness  such 
a  degradation  in  her  child ; '  and,  bursting  with  grief  and 
mortification,  I  would  fly  to  my  own  chamber,  leaving  my  father 
to  dry  the  tears,  and  calm  the  ruffled  feelings,  of  the  woman 
I  despised  and  hated.  You  will,  I  hope,  excuse  me,  my  lord, 
for  dwelling  so  long  and  so  minutely  on  all  my  early  troubles, 
but  it  is  only  by  so  doing  I  can  accurately  describe  to  you 
the  sort  of  life  I  led  at  that  period." 

"I  can  enter  fully  into  the  painful  subject;  yet  how  often 
have  the  same  scenes  been  enacted  in  other  families,  and  still, 
it  is  much  to  be  feared,  will  they  be  repeated  till  the  end  of 
time.  But  in  what  capacity  did  your  father  introduce  Madame 
Roland  to  the  neighborhood  ?  " 

"As  my  instructress  and  his  friend,  and  she  was  estimated 
accordingly." 

"I  need  scarcely  inquire  whether  he  shared  in  the  soli- 
tude to  which  her  questionable  character  condemned  the 
lady?" 

"  With  the  exception  of  some  few  and  unavoidable  visits,  she 
saw  no  one.  My  father,  guided  by  his  passion,  or  influenced  by 
Madame  Roland,  threw  off  his  mourning  for  my  mother  ere  he 
had  worn  it  three  months,  under  the  plea  that  the  sable  garb 
continually  reminded  him  of  his  loss,  and  prevented  him  from 
regaining  his  lost  tranquillity.  His  manners  to  me  daily  became 
colder  and  more  estranged,  while  his  perfect  indifference  con- 
cerning me  allowed  a  degree  of  liberty  almost  incredible  in  a  per- 
son of  my  age.  I  met  him  only  at  breakfast,  after  which  he  re- 
turned to  his  study  with  Madame  Roland,  who  acted  as  his 
secretary,  read  and  answered  all  his  letters,  etc. ;  that  completed, 
they  either  walked  or  drove  out  together,  returning  only  an  hour 
before  dinner,  against  which,  Madame  Roland  would  array 
herself  in  an  elegant  and  well-chosen  evening  dress;  while  my 


396  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

father  would  make  a  most  studiously  elaborate  toilette,  as 
uncalled  for  as  ill  adapted  to  his  time  of  life.  Occasionally, 
after  dinner,  he  received  a  few  persons  he  could  not  avoid  asking 
to  his  house,  when  he  would  play  at  tric-trac  with  Madame 
Eoland  until  ten  o'clock,  at  which  hour  he  would  offer  his  arm 
to  conduct  her  to  my  mother's  apartment,  and  return  to  his 
guests.  As  for  myself,  I  had  unrestrained  permission  to  go 
where  I  pleased  throughout  the  whole  day.  Attended  by  a 
servant,  I  used  to  take  long  rides  in  the  extensive  woods  sur- 
rounding the  chateau,  and  when,  as  occasionally  happened,  I 
felt  my  spirits  unequal  to  appearing  at  the  dinner-table,  not  the 
slightest  inquiry  was  ever  made  after  me,  or  my  absence 
noticed/* 

"  What  singular  neglect  and  forgetf ulness !  " 

"  Having  accidentally  encountered  one  of  our  neighbors 
during  several  successive  days  of  my  excursions  in  the  woods, 
I  gave  up  riding  there,  and  confined  myself  entirely  to  the 
park." 

"  And  how  did  this  infamous  woman  conduct  herself  towards 
you  when  alone?" 

"  She  shunned  all  occasions  of  being  with  me  as  sedulously 
as  I  avoided  her;  but  once  that  we  were  unexpectedly  tete-a-tete 
with  each  other,  and  that  she  was  reproaching  me  for  some 
severe  words  I  had  spoken  the  preceding  evening,  she  said,  coldly, 
'  Have  a  care :  you  cannot  contend  against  my  power ;  any  such 
attempt  will  bring  down  certain  ruin  on  your  head.'  *  As  it 
did  upon  that  of  my  mother/  answered  I.  'It  is  a  pity, 
madame,  you  have  not  M.  Polidori  by  your  side,  to  announce  to 
you  that  your  vengeance  can  be  satisfied — the  day  after  to- 
morrow.' " 

"  And  what  reply  did  she  make  when  you  thus  recalled  those 
fearful  words  ?  " 

"  She  changed  color  rapidly,  her  features  were  almost  con- 
vulsed, then,  by  a  strong  effort  conquering  her  emotion,  she 
angrily  demanded  what  I  meant  by  the  expression  ?  '  Ask  your 
own  heart,  madame/  answered  I,  '  in  the  solitude  of  your 
chamber  inquire  of  yourself  to  what  I  allude:  your  conscience 
will  find  a  ready  explanation/  Shortly  after  that,  a  scene 
occurred  which  forever  sealed  my  destiny. 

"  Among  a  great  number  of  family  portraits  which  graced  the 
walls  of  the  salon  in  which  we  usually  spent  the  evening  was 
that  of  my  mother.  One  day  I  observed  it  had  been  removed 
from  its  accustomed  place.  Two  neighbors  had  dined  with  us; 
one  of  them,  a  M.  Dorval,  a  country  lawyer,  had  always  ex- 


CLEMENCE  D'HARVILLE.  397 

pressed  the  utmost  veneration  and  respect  for  my  mother. 
When  we  reached  the  salon  after  dinner,  I  inquired  of  my  father 
what  had  become  of  my  dear  mother's  picture  ?  '  Cease ! '  cried 
my  father,  significantly  pointing  to  our  guests,  as  though 
intimating  his  desire  that  they  should  not  hear  any  discussion  on 
the  subject ;  '  the  reason  of  the  picture  being  taken  away  is  that 
the  sight  of  it  continually  reminded  me  of  the  heavy  loss  I 
have  sustained,  and  so  prevented  my  regaining  my  usual  calm- 
ness and  peace  of  mind/  '  And  where  is  the  portrait  at 
present?'  inquired  I.  Turning  towards  Madame  Roland,  with 
an  impatient  and  uneasy  air,  he  said,  *  Where  has  the  picture 
been  put  ? '  '  In  the  lumber-room/  replied  she,  casting  on  me 
a  glance  of  defiance,  evidently  under  the  impression  that  the 
presence  of  witnesses  would  prevent  me  from  proceeding  further 
in  the  matter.  'I  can  easily  believe,  Madame/  cried  I, 
indignantly,  *  that  the  recollection  of  my  mother  must  have  been 
painful  to  you;  but  that  was  not  a  sufficient  reason  for  banish- 
ing from  the  walls  the  likeness  of  her  who,  when  you  were 
in  want  and  misery,  kindly  and  charitably  afforded  you  the 
shelter  of  her  roof.'  " 

"Excellent!"  exclaimed  Rodolph;  "yours  was,  indeed,  a 
stinging  and  a  just  reproach." 

"  *  Mademoiselle/  cried  my  father,  'you  forget  that  this  lady 
lias  watched,  and  still  continues  to  preside,  with  maternal 
solicitude  over  your  education :  you  also  seem  to  banish  from  your 
recollection  the  very  high  esteem  and  respect  you  are  aware  / 
entertain  for  her;  and,  since  you  allow  yourself  thus  to  attack 
her  before  strangers,  you  will  permit  me  to  tell  you  that,  in  my 
opinion,  the  charge  of  ingratitude  lies  at  the  door  of  her  who, 
overlooking  the  tender  cares  she  has  received,  presumes  to  re- 
proach a  person,  deserving  of  the  utmost  interest  and  respect, 
with  misfortunes  and  calamities  she  so  nobly  sustained/  *  I 
cannot  venture  to  discuss  the  subject  with  you,  my  dear  father/ 
said  I,  submissively.  '  Perhaps,  then,  mademoiselle,  you  will 
favor  me  with  your  polite  arguments  in  favor  of  rudeness  and 
unmerited  abuse/  cried  Madame  Roland,  carried  away  by  rage 
into  a  neglect  of  her  usual  caution  and  prudence — '  perhaps  you 
will  permit  me  to  assert  that,  so  far  from  owing  the  slightest 
obligation  to  your  mother,  I  have  nothing  to  remember  but  the 
constant  coldness  and  dislike  she  invariably  manifested  towards 
me,  fully  expressive  of  the  disgust  and  displeasure  with  which 
my  residence  in  the  house  inspired  her/  *  Forbear,  madame ! ' 
exclaimed  I,  interrupting  her.  '  Out  of  respect  for  my  father, 
if  not  to  spare  your  own  blushes,  cease  such  shameful  confes- 


398  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

sions  as  the  one  you  have  just  made,  or  you  will  make  even 
me  regret  having  exposed  you  to  so  humiliating  a  disclo- 
sure.' " 

"  Better  and  better ! "  cried  Eodolph ;  "  this  was,  indeed, 
cutting  with  a  two-edged  sword.  Pray  go  on.  And  what  said 
this  woman  ?" 

"  By  a  very  hackneyed,  though  convenient  expedient,  Madame 
Koland  contrived  to  end  a  scene  in  which  she  felt  she  was  likely 
to  have  the  worst.  With  a  sudden  cry  she  threw  herself  into 
a  chair,  and  very  naturally  imitated  a  fainting-fit.  Thanks  to 
this  incident,  the  two  visitors  quitted  the  room  in  search  of 
restoratives;  while  I  retired  to  my  own  apartment,  leaving  my 
father  hanging  in  deep  anxiety  over  the  wicked  cause  of  all 
this  confusion." 

"  Doubtless  your  next  interview  with  your  father  must  have 
been  a  stormy  one." 

"  He  came  to  me  next  morning,  and,  without  further  pream- 
ble, addressed  me  as  follows :  '  In  order  to  prevent  a  recurrence 
of  the  disgraceful  scene  of  yesterday,  I  think  proper  to  inform 
you  that,  immediately  that  decency  permits  both  you  and  my- 
self to  throw  off  our  mourning,  it  is  my  intention  to  celebrate 
my  marriage  with  Madame  Roland,  which  will  compel  you  to 
treat  her  with  the  respect  and  deference  due  to  my  wife.  For 
certain  reasons,  it  is  expedient  you  should  marry  before  me: 
you  will  have  as  a  dowry  your  mother's  fortune,  amounting  to 
more  than  a  million  francs.  From  this  very  day  I  shall  take 
the  necessary  steps  to  form  a  suitable  match  for  you,  and  for 
that  purpose  I  shall  accept  one  of  the  many  offers  I  have  re- 
ceived for  your  hand.  After  this  conversation,  I  lived  more 
alone  than  ever,  never  meeting  my  father  except  at  meal-times, 
which  generally  passed  off  in  the  utmost  silence.  So  really  dull 
and  lonely  was  my  present  existence,  that  I  only  waited  for  my 
father  to  propose  any  suitor  he  might  approve  of,  to  accept  him 
with  perfect  willingness.  Madame  Eoland,  having  relinquished 
all  further  ill-natured  remarks  upon  the  memory  of  my  deceased 
parent,  indemnified  herself  by  inflicting  on  me  the  continual 
pain  of  seeing  her  appropriate  to  herself  the  various  trifles 
my  dear  mother  had  exclusively  made  use  of.  Her  easy-chair, 
embroidery-frame,  the  books  which  composed  her  private  library, 
even  a  screen  I  myself  had  embroidered  for  her,  and  in  the 
center  of  which  were  our  united  ciphers:  this  woman  laid  her 
sacrilegious  hands  on  all  the  elegant  articles  with  which  my 
mother's  taste  and  my  affection  had  ornamented  her  apart- 
ments." 


CLEMENCE  D'HARVILLE.  399 

"  I  can  well  imagine  all  the  horror  these  profanations  must 
have  caused  you." 

"  Still,  great  as  were  my  sufferings,  the  state  of  loneliness  in 
which  I  found  myself  rendered  them  even  greater." 

"  And  you  had  no  one,  no  person  in  whom  you  could 
confide?"* 

"  No  one ;  hut  at  this  time  I  received  a  touching  proof  of  the 
interest  my  fate  excited,  and  which  might  have  opened  my  eyes 
to  the  dangers  preparing  for  me.  One  of  the  two  persons 
present  during  the  scene  with  Madame  Roland  I  so  lately  de- 
scribed was  a  M.  Dorval,  a  worthy  old  notary,  to  whom  my 
mother  had  rendered  some  signal  service.  By  my  father's 
orders,  I  never  since  then  entered  the  salon  when  strangers 
were  there;  I  had  never,  therefore,  seen  M.  Dorval  after  the 
eventful  day  when  I  spoke  so  undisguisedly  to  Madame  Roland : 
great,  therefore,  was  my  surprise  to  see  him  coming  towards  me 
one  day,  in  the  park,  while  I  was  taking  my  accustomed  walk. 
'  Mademoiselle,'  said  he  to  me,  with  a  mysterious  air,  '  I  am  fear- 
ful of  heing  observed  by  your  father;  here  is  a  letter — read  it, 
and  destroy  it  immediately — its  contents  are  most  important  to 
you/  So  saying,  he  disappeared  as  quickly  as  he  came.  In  the 
letter  he  informed  me  that  it  was  in  agitation  to  marry  me  to 
the  Marquis  d'Harville,  and  that  the  match  appeared  in  every 
respect  eligible,  inasmuch  as  everyone  concurred  in  bearing 
testimony  to  the  many  excellent  qualities  of  M.  d'Harville,  who 
was  young,  rich,  good-looking,  and  highly  distinguished  for  his 
talents  and  mental  attainments;  yet  that  the  families  of  two 
young  ladies,  with  whom  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  marriage, 
had  abruptly  broken  off  the  matches.  The  notary  added,  that, 
although  entirely  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  these  ruptures,  he 
still  considered  it  his  duty  to  appraise  me  of  them,  without  in 
the  slightest  degree  insinuating  that  they  originated  in  any 
circumstance  prejudicial  to  the  high  opinion  entertained  of  M. 
d'Harville.  The  two  young  ladies  alluded  to  were,  one,  the 
daughter  of  M.  Beauregard,  a  peer  of  France;. the  other,  of 
Lord  Dudley.  M.  Dorval  concluded  by  saying,  that  his  motive  in 
making  the  communication  was  because  my  father,  in  his 
extreme  desire  to  conclude  the  marriage,  did  not  appear  to  attach 
sufficient  importance  to  the  facts  now  detailed." 

"  Now  you  recall  it  to  my  recollection,"  said  Rodolph,  after 
some  minutes  spent  in  deep  meditation  on  what  he  had  just 
heard,  "  I  remember  that  your  husband,  at  intervals  of  nearly 
twelve  months,  told  me  of  two  marriages  which  had  been  broken 
off  just  as  they  were  on  the  point  of  taking  place,  and  ascribing 


400  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

their  abrupt  termination  to  a  difficulty  in  arranging  matters 
of  a  mere  pecuniary  nature." 

Madame  d'Harville  smiled  bitterly  as  she  replied, — 
"  You  shall  know  what  those  motives  really  were,  my  lord,  very 
shortly.  After  reading  the  letter,  so  kindly  intentioned  on  the 
part  of  the  worthy  notary,  I  felt  both  my  uneasiness  and 
curiosity  rapidly  increase.  Who  was  D'Harville  ?  my  father  had 
never  mentioned  him  to  me ;  in  vain  I  ransacked  my  memory,  I 
could  not  recollect  ever  to  have  heard  the  name.  Soon,  however, 
the  current  of  my  thoughts  was  directed  into  another  channel 
by  the  abrupt  departure  of  Madame  Roland  for  Paris. 
Although  the  period  of  her  absence  was  limited  to  eight  days 
at  the  utmost,  yet  my  father  expressed  the  deepest  grief  at  even 
this  trifling  separation  from  her:  his  temper  became  altogether 
soured,  and  his  coldness  towards  me  hourly  increased;  he  even 
went  so  far  as  to  reply,  when  one  day  I  inquired  after  his 
health,  *  I  am  ill — and  all  through  you/  e  Through  me  ?  '  ex- 
claimed I.  '  Assuredly,  through  you ;  you  know  full  well  how 
indispensable  to  my  happiness  is  the  company  of  Madame 
Roland,  yet  this  incomparable  woman,  who  has  been  so  grossly 
insulted  by  you,  has  left  me  to  undertake  her  present  journey 
solely  on  your  account.'  This  mark  of  interest  on  the  part  of 
Madame  Roland  filled  me  with  the  most  lively  apprehensions  of 
evil,  and  a  vague  presentiment  floated  across  my  mind  that  my 
marriage  was  in  some  way  or  other  mixed  up  with  it.  I  must 
leave  it  to  your  imagination,  my  lord,  to  picture  the  delight  of 
my  father  upon  the  return  of  my  future  mother-in-law.  The 
next  day  he  sent  to  desire  my  company;  I  found  him  alone  with 
her.  *  I  have  for  some  time/  said  he,  *  been  thinking  of  establish- 
ing you  in  the  world ;  in  another  month  your  mourning  will  have 
expired.  To-morrow  I  expect  M.  d'Harville,  a  young  man 
possessed  of  every  requisite,  both  as  to  fortune  and  figure,  to 
secure  any  woman's  approbation;  he  is  well  looked  upon  in 
society,  and  is  capable  of  securing  the  happiness  of  any  lady 
he  may  seek  in  marriage.  Now,  having  seen  you,  though 
accidentally,  his  choice  has  fallen  on  you.  In  fact,  he  is  most 
anxious  to  obtain  your  hand.  Every  pecuniary  arrangement  is 
concluded.  It  therefore  remains  solely  with  yourself  to  be 
married  ere  the  next  six  weeks  have  elapsed.  If,  on  the  con- 
trary, from  any  capricious  whim  impossible  for  me  to  foresee, 
you  think  fit  to  refuse  the  unlooked-for  good  offer  now  before  you, 
it  will  in  no  respect  alter  my  own  plans,  as  my  marriage  will 
take  place,  according  to  my  original  intention,  directly  my 
mourning  expires.  And,  in  this  latter  case,  I  am  bound  to 


CLEMENCE  D'UARVILLE.  401 

inform  you,  that  your  presence  in  my  house  will  not  be  agreeable 
to  me,  unless  I  have  your  promise  to  treat  my  wife  with  the 
respect  and  tenderness  to  which  she  is  entitled.'  *  I  understand 
you,'  replied  I ;  '  whether  I  accept  M.  d'Harville  or  no,  you  will 
marry;  and  my  only  resource  will  then  be  to  retire  to  the  Con- 
vent of  the  Holy  Heart?'  'It  will,'  answered  he,  coldly." 

"  His  conduct  now  ceases  to  be  classed  under  the  term  weak- 
ness," said  Rodolph;  "it  assumes  the  form  of  positive  cmelty." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you,  my  lord,  what  has  always  prevented  me 
from  feeling  the  least  resentment  at  my  father's  conduct?  It 
is  because  I  have  always  had  a  strong  presentiment  that  he 
would  one  day  pay  dearly — too  dearly,  alas ! — for  his  blind 
passion  for  Madame  Roland.  Thank  Heaven,  that  evil  day  has 
not  yet  arrived !  " 

"  And  did  you  not  mention  to  your  father  what  the  old  notary 
had  informed  you  of — the  abrupt  breaking  off  of  the  two 
marriages  M.  d'Harville  had  been  on  the  point  of  contracting?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  did,  my  lord.  I  signified  to  my  father  upon  the 
occasion  of  the  conversation  I  was  relating  to  you  a  wish  to  speak 
with  him  alone,  upon  which  Madame  Roland  abruptly  rose  and 
quitted  the  apartment.  '  I  have  no  objection  to  the  union  you 
propose  with  M.  d'Harville/  said  I ;  '  only,  as  I  understand,  he 

has  twice  been  upon  the  point  of  marriage,  and '  '  Enough — 

enough ! '  interrupted  he,  hastily.  '  I  know  all  about  those  two 
affairs,  which  were  so  abruptly  broken  off  merely  because  matters 
of  a  pecuniary  nature  were  not  satisfactorily  arranged ;  although, 
I  am  bound  to  assure  you,  that  not  the  slightest  shadow  of 
blame  was  attributable  to  M.  d'Harville.  If  that  be  your  only 
objection,  you  may  consider  the  match  as  concluded  on,  and 
yourself  as  married — ay,  and  happily,  too ! — for,  spite  of  your 
conduct,  my  first  wish  is  for  your  happiness.' " 

"  No  doubt  Madame  Roland  was  delighted  with  your  mar- 
riage ?  " 

"  Delighted  ?  Yes,  my  lord,"  said  Clemence,  with  bitterness. 
"  She  was,  and  well  might  be,  delighted  with  this  union,  which 
was,  in  fact,  of  her  effecting.  She  it  was  who  had  first  sug- 
gested it  to  my  father;  she  knew  full  well  the  real  occasion  of 
breaking  off  the  marriages  so  nearly  completed  by  M.  d'Harville, 
and  hence  arose  her  exceeding  anxiety  for  him  to  become  my 
husband." 

"  What  motive  could  she  possibly  have  had  ?  " 

"  She  sought  to  avenge  herself  on  me  by  condemning  me  to  a 
life  of  wretchedness." 

"  But  your  father " 


4:02  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Deceived  by  Madame  Eoland,  he  fully  and  implicitly  believed 
that  interested  motives  alone  had  set  aside  the  two  former 
marriages  of  M.  d'Harville." 

"  What  a  horrible  scheme !  But  what  was  this  mysterious 
reason  ?  " 

"You  shall  know  shortly.  Well,  M.  d'Harville  arrived  at 
Aubiers,  and,  I  confess,  I  was  much  pleased  with  his  appearance, 
manners,  and  cultivated  mind.  He  seemed  very  amiable  and 
kind,  though  somewhat  melancholy.  I  remarked  in  him  a  con- 
tradiction which  charmed  and  astonished  me  at  the  same  time. 
His  personal  and  mental  advantages  were  considerable,  his 
fortune  princely,  and  his  birth  illustrious;  yet,  at  times,  the 
expression  of  his  countenance  would  change,  from  a  firm  and 
manly  energy  and  decision  of  purpose,  to  an  almost  timid, 
shrinking  look,  as  though  he  feared  even  his  own  self;  then  an 
utter  dejection  of  spirits  and  exhaustion  would  ensue.  There 
was,  at  these  strangely  contrasted  periods,  such  a  look  of  depre- 
cating humility,  such  an  appearance  of  conscious  wrong,  as 
touched  me  deeply,  and  won  my  pity  to  a  great  extent.  I 
admired  greatly  the  kindness  of  manner  he  ever  evinced  to  an 
old  servant — a  valet-de-chambre,  who  had  been  about  him  from 
his  birth — and  who  alone  was  suffered  to  attend  upon  his  master 
now  he  had  reached  man's  estate.  Shortly  after  M.  d'Harville's 
arrival  he  remained  for  two  days  secluded  in  his  apartment. 
My  father  wished  to  visit  him;  but  the  old  servant  alluded  to 
objected,  stating  that  his  master  had  so  violent  a  headache,  he 
could  receive  no  one.  When  M.  d'Harville  emerged  from  his 
chamber,  he  was  excessively  pale,  and  looked  extremely  ill.  He 
afterwards  appeared  to  experience  a  sort  of  impatience  and 
uneasiness  when  any  reference  was  made  to  his  temporary 
indisposition.  In  proportion  as  I  became  better  acquainted  with 
M.  d'Harville,  I  discovered  that,  on  many  points,  a  singular 
similarity  of  taste  existed  between  us.  He  had  so  much  to  be 
proud  of,  and  so  many  reasons  for  being  happy,  that  his 
excessive  and  shrinking  modesty  struck  me  as  something  more 
than  admirable.  The  day  for  our  marriage  being  fixed,  he 
seemed  to  delight  in  anticipating  every  wish  I  could  form  for 
the  future,  and,  when  sometimes  I  alluded  to  the  deep  melancholy 
which  at  times  possessed  him,  and  begged  to  know  the  cause,  he 
would  speak  of  his  deceased  parents,  and  of  the  delight  it  would 
have  afforded  them  to  see  him  married,  to  their  hearts'  dearest 
wish,  to  one  so  justly  approved  both  by  his  own  judgment  and 
affections,  I  could  not  well  find  fault  with  reasons  so  compli- 
mentary to  myself.  M.  d'Harville  easily  guessed  the  terms  on 


CLEMENCE  D'HARVILLE.  403 

•which  I  must  have  been  living  with  my  father  and  Madame 
Roland,  although  the  former,  delighted  at  my  marriage,  which 
would  serve  as  a  plea  for  accelerating  his  own,  had  latterly 
treated  me  with  excessive  tenderness.  In  some  of  our  conversa- 
tions, M.  d'Harville,  with  infinite  tact  and  good  feeling,  ex- 
plained to  me  that  his  regard  was  considerably  heightened  by 
the  knowledge  of  all  I  had  suffered  since  my  dear  mother's 
death.  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  hint  to  him,  at  such  a  time, 
that,  as  my  father  was  about  to  marry  again,  it  might  very 
possibly  affect  the  property  I  might  be  expected  to  inherit.  He 
would  not  even  permit  me  to  proceed,  but  most  effectually  con- 
vinced me  of  his  own  utterly  disinterested  motives  in  seeking 
my  hand.  I  could  not  but  think  that  the  families,  who  had 
so  abruptly  broken  off  his  former  projected  alliances,  must  have, 
been  very  unreasonable  or  avaricious  people  if  they  made 
pecuniary  matters  a  stumbling-block  with  one  so  generous,  easy, 
and  liberal  as  M.  d'Harville." 

"  And,  such  as  you  describe  him,  so  have  I  always  found  him/' 
cried  Rodolph ;  "  all  heart,  disinterestedness,  and  delicacy !  But 
did  you  never  speak  to  him  of  the  marriages  so  hastily  broken 
off?" 

"  I  will  confess  to  you,  my  lord,  that  the  question  was  several 
times  on  my  lips:  but,  when  I  recollected  the  sensitiveness  of 
his  nature,  I  feared  to  pain  him  by  questions,  which  might,  at 
any  rate,  have  wounded  his  self-love,  or  taxed  his  honor  to  reply 
to  truly.  The  nearer  the  day  fixed  for  our  marriage  approached, 
the  more  delighted  did  M.  d'Harville  appear.  Yet  I  several 
times  detected  him  absorbed  in  the  most  perfect  dejection,  the 
deepest  melancholy.  One  day,  in  particular,  I  caught  his  eyes 
fixed  on  me  with  a  settled  gaze,  as  though  resolving  to  confide  to 
me  some  important  secret  he  yet  could  not  bring  himself  to 
reveal.  I  perceived  a  large  tear  trickle  slowly  down  his  cheek, 
as  though  wrung  from  his  very  heart.  The  recollection  of  his 
two  former  prospects  of  marriage,  so  suddenly  destroyed,  rose  to 
my  mind;  and,  I  confess,  I  almost  felt  afraid  to  proceed.  A 
vague  presentiment  whispered  within  me  that  the  happiness 
of  my  whole  life  was  at  stake — perhaps  periled  forever.  But 
then,  on  the  other  hand,  such  was  my  eager  desire  to  quit  my 
father's  house,  that  I  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  every  suggestion  of 
evil  arising  from  my  union  with  M.  d'Harville." 

"  And  did  M.  d'Harville  make  you  no  voluntary  confession  ?  " 

"  Not  any.  When  I  inquired  the  cause  of  his  continual  fits 
of  melancholy,  he  would  answer,  *  Pray  do  not  heed  it.  But  I 
am  always  most  sad  when  most  happy!'  These  words,  pro- 


404:  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

nounced  in  the  kindest  and  most  touching  manner,  reassured 
me  a  little.  And  how,  indeed,  was  it  possible,  when  his  voice 
•would  quiver  with  emotion,  and  his  eyes  fill  with  tears,  to  mani- 
fest any  further  suspicion,  by  repeating  my  questions  as  to  the 
past,  when  it  was  with  the  future  only  I  had  any  business? 
The  persons  appointed  to  witness  the  contract  on  the  part  of 
M.  d'Harville,  M.  de  Lucenay  and  M.  de  Saint-Remy,  arrived  at 
Aubiers  some  days  previous  to  the  marriage;  my  nearest  rela- 
tions alone  were  invited.  Immediately  after  the  conclusion  of 
the  ceremony,  we  were  to  depart  for  Paris;  and  it  is  true  I  felt 
for  M.  d'Harville  none  of  that  love  with  which  a  young  wife 
ought  to  regard  the  man  she  vows  her  future  life  to,  but  I  ad- 
mired and  respected  his  character  and  disposition,  and,  but 
for  the  disastrous  events  which  followed  this  fatal  union,  a 
more  tender  feeling  could  doubtless  soon  have  attached  me  to 
him.  Well,  we  were  married." 

At  these  words,  Madame  d'Harville  turned  rather  pale,  and 
her  resolution  appeared  to  forsake  her.  After  a  pause,  she  re- 
sumed,— 

"  Immediately  after  the  ceremony,  my  father  embraced  me 
tenderly,  as  did  Madame  Roland  also :  before  so  many  persons  I 
could  not  avoid  the  display  of  this  fresh  exhibition  of  hypocrisy. 
With  her  dry  and  white  hand  she  squeezed  mine  so  hard  as  to 
pain  me,  and  said,  in  a  whisper,  and  in  a  tone  as  gentle  as  it 
was  perfidious,  these  words,  which  I  never  can  forget,  '  Think  of 
me  sometimes  in  the  midst  of  your  bliss,  for  it  was  I  who  ar- 
ranged your  marriage'  Alas,  I  was  far  from  comprehending 
at  that  moment  the  full  force  of  those  words !  Our  marriage 
took  place  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  we  immediately  entered  our 
carriage,  followed  by  my  waiting-woman  and  the  old  valet-dc- 
chambre  of  M.  d'Harville's,  and  we  traveled  so  rapidly  that  we 
reached  Paris  before  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening.  I  should  have 
been  surprised  at  the  silence  and  melancholy  of  M.  d'Harville 
had  I  not  known  that  he  had  what  he  termed  his  happy  sadness. 
I  was  myself  painfully  disturbed ;  I  was  returning  to  Paris  for 
the  first  time  since  my  mother's  death;  I  arrived  there  alone 
with  my  husband,  whom  I  had  hardly  known  more  than  six 
weeks,  and  who,  up  to  the  evening  before,  had  not  addressed  a 
word  to  me  but  what  was  marked  by  respectful  formality. 
Men,  however  well-bred,  do  not  think  sufficiently  of  the  fear 
which  the  sudden  change  in  their  tone  and  manners  occasions 
to  a  young  female  as  soon  as  she  belongs  to  them ;  they  do  not 
reflect  that  a  youthful  maiden  cannot  in  a  few  hours  forget  all 
her  timidity  and  virgin  scruples." 


CLEMEXCE  D'HAR  V1LLE.  405 

e<  Nothing  is  to  me  more  barbarous  than  this  system  of  carrying 
off  a  young  female  as  soon  as  the  wedding  ceremony  is  over, — a 
ceremony  which  ought  to  consecrate  the  right  and  duty  to  employ 
still  more  every  tenderness  of  love  and  effort  to  render  mutual 
affection  still  stronger  and  more  endearing." 

"  You  will  imagine,  monseigneur,  the  indefinable  alarm  with 
which  I  found  myself  in  Paris — in  the  city  in  which  my  mother 
had  died  hardly  a  year  before.  We  reached  the  Hotel  d'Har- 
ville " 

The  emotion  of  the  young  lady  redoubled,  her  cheeks  were 
flushed  with  scarlet,  and  she  added,  in  a  voice  scarcely  intelli- 
gible,— 

"  You  must  know  all ;  if  not,  I  shall  appear  too  contemptible 
in  your  eyes.  Well,  then,"  she  resumed,  with  desperate  resolu- 
tion, "  I  was  led  to  my  apartment  and  left  there  alone ;  after  an 
hour  M.  d'Harville  joined  me  there,  I  was  weeping  bitterly. 
My  husband  came  towards  me,  and  was  about  to  take  my  arm, 
when  he  fell  at  my  feet  in  agony.  He  could  not  hear  my  voice, 
his  countenance  was  spasmodic  with  fearful  convulsions,  his  eyes 
rolled  in  their  orbits  with  a  rapidity  that  appalled  me,  his  con- 
torted mouth  was  filled  with  blood  and  foam,  and  his  hand 
grasped  me  with  inconceivable  force.  I  made  a  desperate  effort, 
and  his  stiffened  fingers  at  length  unclasped  from  my  wrist,  and 
I  fainted  at  the  moment  when  M.  d'Harville  was  struggling  in 
the  paroxysm  of  this  horrible  attack.  This  was  my  wedding 
night,  my  lord, — this  was  the  vengeance  of  Madame  Roland ! " 

"  Unhappy  woman ! "  said  Rodolph,  overwhelmed.  "  I 
understand — an  epileptic.  Ah,  'tis  horrible !  " 

"  And  that  is  not  all,"  added  Clemence,  in  a  voice  almost 
choked  by  emotion ;  "  my  child,  my  angel  girl,  she  has  in- 
herited this  frightful  malady." 

"  Your  daughter  ?  she !  What !  her  paleness — her  weak- 
ness  " 

"  Is,  I  dread  to  believe,  hereditary ;  and  the  physicians  think, 
therefore,  that  it  is  incurable." 

Madame  d'Harville  hid  her  face  in  her  hands;  overcome  by 
this  painful  disclosure,  she  had  not  courage  to  add  another 
word.  Rodolph  also  remained  silent.  His  mind  recoiled  af- 
frighted from  the  terrible  mysteries  of  this  night.  He  pictured 
to  himself  the  young  maiden,  already  sad,  in  consequence  of  her 
return  to  the  city  in  which  her  mother  had  died,  arriving  at  a 
strange  house,  alone  with  a  man  for  whom  she  felt  an  interest 
and  esteem,  but  not  love,  nor  any  of  those  sentiments  which 
enchant  the  mind,  none  of  the  engrossing  feeling  which  removes 


406  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

the  chaste  alarms  of  a  woman  in  the  participation  of  a  lawful 
and  reciprocal  affection.  No,  no;  on  the  contrary,  Clemence 
arrived  agitated  and  distressed,  with  depressed  spirits  and  tear- 
ful eyes.  She  was,  however,  resolved  on  resignation  and  the 
fulfilment  of  duty,  when,  instead  of  listening  to  language  full 
of  devotion,  love,  and  tenderness,  which  would  compensate  for 
the  sorrowful  feelings  which  were  uppermost  in  her  mind,  she 
sees  convulsed  at  her  feet  a  stricken  man,  who  twists,  and  foams, 
and  shrieks,  in  the  hideous  convulsions  of  one  of  the  most  fear- 
ful infirmities  with  which  a  man  can  be  incurably  smitten ! 
This  is  not  all :  his  child,  poor  little  innocent  angel !  is  also 
withered  from  her  birth.  These  sad  and  painful  avowals  excited 
bitter  reflections  in  Rodolph's  mind.-  "  Such,"  said  he,  "  is  the 
law  of  the  land.  A  young,  handsome,  and  pure  girl,  the  con- 
fiding and  gentle  victim  of  a  shameful  dissimulation,  unites 
her  destiny  to  that  of  a  man  tainted  with  an  incurable 
malady — a  fatal  inheritance  which  he  will  assuredly  transmit  to 
his  children.  The  unhappy  wife  discovers  this  horrid  mystery. 
What  can  she  do?  Nothing — nothing  but  suffer  and  weep; 
nothing  but  endeavor  to  overcome  her  disgust  and  fright ;  noth- 
ing but  pass  her  days  in  anguish,  in  indefinable  and  endless 
terror;  nothing  but  seek,  perhaps,  culpable  consolation  without 
the  desolate  existence  which  has  been  created  around  her. 
Again/'  said  Rodolph,  "these  strange  laws  sometimes  produce 
horrible  unions:  fearful  for  humanity.  In  these  laws,  animals 
always  appear  superior  to  man  in  the  care  bestowed  upon  them; 
in  the  improvements  that  are  studied  for  them ;  in  the  protection 
which  encircles,  the  guarantees  which  attend  them.  Buy  an 
animal,  and,  if  an  infirmity  decried  by  the  law  is  detected  after 
the  purchase,  the  sale  is  null  and  void.  Indeed,  what  a  shame, 
what  a  case  of  public  injury  would  it  be  to  compel  a  man  to  keep 
an  animal  which  has  a  cough,  is  lame,  or  has  lost  an  eye !  Why 
it  would  be  scandalous,  criminal,  unheard-of  infamy!  Only 
imagine  being  compelled  to  keep,  and  keep  forever,  a  mule  with 
a  cough,  a  horse  that  was  blind,  or  an  ass  that  was  lame! 
What  frightful  consequences  might  not  such  injustice  entail  on 
the  community !  Therefore,  no  such  bargains  hold  good,  no 
words  bind,  no  contract  is  valid :  the  omnipotent  law  unlooses  all 
that  was  thus  bound.  But  if  it  relates  to  a  creature  made  after 
God's  own  image,  if  it  respects  a  young  girl  who,  in  the  full  and 
innocent  reliance  on  the  good  faith  of  a  man,  unites  her  lot  with 
his,  and  wakes  up  in  the  company  of  an  epileptic,  an  unhappy 
wretch  stricken  with  a  fearful  malady,  whose  moral  and  physi- 
cal consequences  are  immeasurably  distressing,  a  malady  which 


CLEMENCE  D'HARVILLE.  407 

may  throw  disorder  and  aversion  into  a  family,  perpetuate  a 
horrible  disease,  vitiate  whole  generations,  yes,  this  law,  so  inex- 
orable when  lame,  blind,  or  coughing  animals  are  the  considera- 
tion— this  law,  so  singularly  clear-sighted,  which  will  not  allow 
an  unsound  horse  to  increase  the  species — this  law  will  not 
loosen  the  victim  of  a  union  such  as  we  have  described.  These 
bonds  are  sacred,  indissoluble:  it  is  to  offend  God  and  man  to 
break  them.  In  truth,"  continued  Rodolph,  "  men  sometimes 
display  a  humility  most  shameful  and  an  egotistical  pride  which 
is  only  execrable.  He  values  himself  at  less  than  the  beast 
which  he  protects  by  warranties  which  he  refuses  for  himself; 
and  he  imposes  on  himself,  makes  sacred,  and  perpetuates  his 
most  distressing  infirmities  by  putting  them  under  the  protection 
of  the  immutability  of  laws  human  and  divine."  Rodolph 
greatly  blamed  M.  d'Harville,  but  he  promised  to  himself  to 
excuse  him  in  the  eyes  of  Clemence,  although  fully  persuaded 
after  her  sad  disclosure  that  the  marquis  was  forever  alienated 
from  her  heart.  One  thought  led  to  another,  and  Rodolph  said 
to  himself,  "  I  have  kept  aloof  from  a  woman  I  love,  and  who, 
perhaps,  already  feels  a  secret  inclination  for  me.  Either  from 
an  attachment  of  heart  or  friendship,  she  has  bestowed  her 
honor — her  life — for  the  sake  of  a  fool  whom  she  thought  un- 
happy. If,  instead  of  leaving  her,  I  had  paid  her  all  sorts  of 
attentions,  love,  and  consideration,  my  name  would  have  been 
such,  that  her  reputation  would  not  have  received  the  slightest 
stain,  the  suspicions  of  her  husband  would  never  have  been  ex- 
cited :  whilst,  now,  she  is  all  but  at  the  mercy  of  such  an  ass  as 
M.  Charles  Robert,  who,  I  fear,  will  become  the  more  indiscreet 
in  proportion  as  he  has  the  less  right  to  be  so.  And  then,  too, 
who  knows  if,  in  spite  of  the  dangers  she  has  risked,  the  heart  of 
Madame  d'Harville  will  always  remain  free?  Any  return  to 
her  husband  is  henceforward  impossible.  Young,  handsome, 
courted,  with  a  disposition  sympathizing  with  all  who  suffer, 
what  clangers,  what  shoals  and  quicksands,  lie  before  her !  For 
M.  d'Harville,  what  anguish  and  what  deep  chagrin!  At  the 
same  time,  jealous  of  and  in  love  with  his  wife,  who  cannot  sub- 
due the  disgust  and  fright  which  he  excited  in  her  on  their 
nuptials — what  a  lot  is  his !  " 

Clemence,  with  her  forehead  hidden  by  her  hands,  her  eyes 
brimful  of  tears,  and  her  cheeks  reddened  by  embarrassment, 
avoided  Rodolph's  look:  such  pain  had  the  disclosure  cost  her. 

"  Ah,  now,"  said  Rodolph,  after  a  long  silence,  "  I  can  under- 
stand the  cause  of  M.  d'Harville's  sadness,  which  I  could  not 
before  account  for.  I  can  imagine  his  regrets " 


408  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  His  regrets !  "  exclaimed  Clemence ;  "  say  his  remorse,  mon- 
seigneur,  if  he  have  any,  for  never  was  such  a  crime  more  coolly 
meditated." 

"  A  crime,  madame  ?  " 

"  What  else  is  it,  my  lord,  to  bind  to  yourself  in  indissoluble 
bonds  a  young  girl,  who  confides  in  your  honor,  when  you  are 
fatally  stricken  with  a  malady  which  inspires  fear  and  horror? 
What  else  is  it,  to  devote  with  certainty  an  unhappy  child  to 
similar  misery?  What  forced  M.  d'Harville  to  make  two  vic- 
tims? A  blind,  insensate  passion?  No;  he  found  my  birth, 
my  fortune,  and  my  person,  to  his  taste.  He  wished  to  make  a 
convenient  marriage,  because,  doubtless,  a  bachelor's  life  wearied 
him." 

"  Madame,  at  least  pity  him." 

"Pity  him?  If  you  wish  pity,  pray  let  it  be  bestowed  on 
my  child.  Poor  victim  of  this  odious  union,  what  nights  and 
days  have  I  passed  near  her !  what  tears  have  not  her  mis- 
fortunes wrung  from  me !  " 

"  But  her  father  suffers  from  the  same  unmerited  afflictions." 

"  Yet  it  is  that  father  who  has  condemned  her  to  a  sickly 
infancy,  a  withering  youth,  and,  if  she  should  survive,  to  a  life 
of  isolation  and  misery,  for  she  will  never  marry.  Ah,  no,  I 
love  her  too  well  to  expose  her  to  the  chance  of  one  day's  weeping 
over  her  own  offspring,  similarly  smitten,  as  I  weep  over  her. 
I  have  suffered  too  much  from  treachery,  to  render  myself 
guilty  of,  or  an  accomplice  in,  such  wickedness !  " 

"You  are  right;  the  vengeance  of  your  mother-in-law  was 
really  atrocious.  But  patience,  and  perhaps  in  your  turn 
you  will  be  avenged,"  said  Eoclolph,  after  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  lord  ?  "  inquired  Clemence,  aston- 
ished at  the  change  in  his  voice. 

"  I  have  generally  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  those  whom  I 
have  known  to  be  wicked  most  severely  punished,"  he  replied,  in 
a  voice  that  made  Clemence  shudder.  "  But  the  day  after  this 
unhappy  event  what  did  your  husband  say?  " 

"  He  confessed,  with  singular  candor,  that  his  two  former 
marriages  had  been  broken  off  in  consequence  of  the  families  be- 
coming acquainted  with  the  secret  of  his  fearful  malady.  Thus, 
then,  after  having  been  twice  rejected,  he  had  the  shameful,  the 
unmanly  courage,  to  drag  a  third  poor  victim  into  the  abyss  of 
misery  the  kind  intervention  of  friends  had  preserved  the  others 
from.  And  this  is  what  the  world  calls  a  gentleman  and  a  man 
of  honor ! " 


CLEMEXCE  VIIARVILLE.  409 

"  For  one  so  good,  so  full  of  pity  to  others,  yours  are  harsh 
words." 

"  Because  I  feel  I  have  been  unworthily  treated.  M.  d'Har- 
ville  easily  penetrated  the  girlish  openness  of  my  character :  why, 
then,  did  he  not  trust  to  my  sympathy  and  generosity  of  feeling, 
and  tell  me  the  whole  truth  ?  " 

"  Because  you  would  have  refused  him." 

"  This  very  expression  proves  how  guilty  he  was,  and  how 
treacherous  was  his  conduct,  if  he  really  entertained  the  idea  of 
my  rejecting  his  hand  if  informed  of  the  truth ! " 

"  He  loved  you  too  well  to  incur  the  risk  of  losing  you." 

"  No,  no,  my  lord ;  had  he  really  loved  me,  he  would  never 
have  sacrificed  me  to  his  selfish  passion.  Nay,  so  wretched  was 
my  position  at  that  time,  and  such  was  my  desire  to  quit  my 
father's  roof,  that,  had  he  been  candid  and  explicit  with  me,  it 
is  more  than  probable  he  would  have  moved  me  to  pity  the 
species  of  misery  he  was  condemned  to  endure,  and  to  sympa- 
thize with  one  so  cut  off  from  the  tender  ties  which  sweeten 
life.  I  really  believe,  at  this  moment,  that,  touched  by  his  open, 
manly  confession,  as  well  as  interested  for  one  laboring  under  so 
severe  an  infliction  of  the  Almighty's  hand,  I  should  scarcely 
have  had  the  courage  to  refuse  him  my  hand ;  and,  once  aware  of 
all  I  had  undertaken,  nothing  should  have  deterred  me  from  the 
full  and  conscientious  discharge  of  every  solemn  duty  towards 
him.  But  to  compel  this  pity  and  interest,  merely  because  he 
had  me  in  his  power,  and  to  exact  my  consideration  and  sym- 
pathy, because  unhappily  I  was  his  wife,  and  had  sworn  to  ob- 
ligations, the  full  force  of  which  had  been  concealed  from  me, 
was  at  once  the  act  of  a  coward  and  a  wrong-judging  mind. 
How  could  I  hold  myself  bound  to  endure  the  heavy  penalties 
of  my  unfortunate  marriage,  when  my  husband  had  trampled 
on  every  tie  which  binds  an  honorable  mind?  And  now,  my 
lord,  you  may  form  some  little  idea  of  my  wedded  life;  you  are 
now  aware  how  shamefully  I  was  deceived,  and  that,  too,  by  the 
person  in  whose  hands  I  unsuspectingly  placed  the  future  happi- 
ness of  my  whole  existence.  I  had  implicitly  trusted  in 
M.  d'Harville,  and  he  had  most  dishonorably  and  treacherously 
repaid  my  trustfulness  with  bitter  and  irremediable  wrongs. 
The  gentle,  timid  melancholy  which  had  so  greatly  interested 
me  in  his  favor,  and  which  he  attributed  to  pious  recollections, 
was,  in  truth,  only  the  workings  of  a  conscience  ill  at  ease,  and 
the  knowledge  of  his  own  incurable  infirmity." 

"  Still,  were  he  a  stranger  or  an  enemy,  a  heait  so  noble  and 
generous  as  yours  would  pity  such  sufferings  as  he  endures  ?  " 


410  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"But  can  I  calm  those  sufferings?  If  he  could  distinguish 
my  voice,  or  if  only  a  look  of  recognition  answered  my  sorrow- 
ing glance!  But  no.  Oh,  my  lord,  it  is  impossible  for  such 
as  have  never  seen  them  to  form  an  idea  of  those  frightful  par- 
oxysms, in  which  every  sense  is  suspended,  and  the  unfortunate 
sufferer  merely  recovers  from  his  frenzy  to  fall  into  a  sort  of 
sullen  dejection !  When  my  dear  child  experiences  one  of  these 
attacks,  it  almost  breaks  my  heart  to  see  her  tender  frame 
twisted,  stiffened,  and  distorted,  by  the  dreadful  convulsions 
which  accompany  it.  Still  she  is  my  own,  my  beloved  infant, 
and,  when  I  see  her  bitter  agonies,  my  hatred  and  aversion  to 
her  father  are  increased  an  hundredfold.  But,  when  my  poor 
child  becomes  calmer,  so  does  my  irritation  against  my  husband 
subside  also;  and  then — ah,  then — the  natural  tenderness  of  my 
heart  makes  my  angry  feelings  give  place  to  a  species  of  sorrow 
and  pity  for  him.  Yet  surely  I  did  not  marry  at  only  seventeen 
years  of  age  merely  to  experience  the  alternations  of  hatred  and 
painful  commiseration,  and  to  weep  over  a  frail  and  sickly  infant, 
whom  after  all  I  may  not  be  permitted  to  rear.  And,  as  regards 
this  beloved  object  of  my  incessant  prayers,  permit  me,  my  lord, 
to  anticipate  a  reproach,  I  doubtless  deserve,  and  which  you 
would  be  unwilling  to  make.  My  daughter,  young  as  she  is,  is 
capable  of  interesting  my  affections  and  fully  occupying  my 
heart ;  but  the  love  she  inspires  is  so  cruelly  mixed  with  present 
anguish  and  future  apprehensions,  that  my  tenderness  for  my 
child  invariably  ends  in  tears  and  bitter  grief.  When  I  am 
with  her,  my  heart  is  torn  with  agony,  a  heavy  crushing  weight 
presses  on  my  heart  at  the  thoughts  of  her  hopeless,  suffering 
state.  N"ot  all  the  fondest  devices  of  a  mother's  love  can  over- 
come a  malady  pronounced  by  all  our  faculty  as  incurable. 
Thus,  then,  by  way  of  relief  and  refuge  from  the  atmosphere  of 
wretchedness  which  surrounded  me,  I  had  pictured  to  myself 
the  possibility  of  finding  calm  and  repose  for  my  troubled  spirit 

in  an  attachment,  so  vain,  so  empty,  that But  I  have  been 

deceived  a  second  time,  most  unworthily  deceived;  and  there  is 
now  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  resign  myself  to  the  gloom  and 
misery  of  the  life  my  husband's  want  of  candor  has  entailed 
upon  me.  But  tell  me,  my  lord,  is  it  such  an  existence  as  I  was 
justified  in  expecting  when  I  bestowed  my  hand  on  M.  d'Har- 
ville?  And  am  I  alone  to  blame  for  those  injuries,  to  avenge 
which  my  husband  had  this  day  determined  to  take  my  life? 
My  fault  was  great,  very  great;  and  the  more  so,  because  the 
object  I  had  selected  was  every  way  so  unworthy,  and  leaves  me 
the  additional  shame  of  having  to  blush  for  my  choice.  Hap- 


CLEMENCE  D'HARVILLE.  411 

pily  for  me,  my  lord,  the  conversation  you  overheard  between 
the  Countess  Sarah  and  her  brother  on  the  subject  of  M.  Charles 
Eobert  spares  me  much  of  the  humiliation  I  should  otherwise 
have  experienced  in  making  this  confession.  I  only  venture 
to  hope  that,  since  listening  to  my  relation,  you  may  be  induced 
to  consider  me  as  much  an  object  of  pity  as  I  admit  I  am  of 
blame." 

"  I  cannot  express  to  you,  madame,  how  deeply  your  narrative 
lias  touched  me.  What  gnawing  grief,  what  hidden  sorrows 
have  you  not  been  called  upon  to  endure,  from  the  death  of 
your  mother  to  the  birth  of  your  child  !  Who  would  ever  believe 
such  ills  could  reach  one  so  envied,  so  admired,  and  so  calculated 
to  enjoy  and  impart  happiness  to  others  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  lord,  there  are  some  sorrows  so  deep,  so  unapproach- 
able, that  for  worlds  we  would  not  even  have  them  suspected ;  and 
the  severest  increase  of  suffering  would  arise  from  the  very  doubt 
of  our  being  the  enviable  creatures  we  are  believed  to  be." 

"You  are  right;  nothing  would  be  more  painful  than  the 
question,  openly  expressed,  '  Is  she  or  he  as  happy  as  they  seem 
to  be  ? '  Still,  if  there  is  any  happiness  in  the  knowledge,  be  as- 
sured you  are  not  the  only  one  who  has  to  struggle  with  the  fear- 
ful contrast  between  reality  and  that  which  the  world  believes." 

"How  so,  my  lord?" 

"  Because,  in  the  eyes  of  all  who  know  you,  your  husband  is 
esteemed  even  happier  than  yourself,  since  he  possesses  one  so 
rich  in  every  good  gift:  and  yet  is  not  he  also  much  to  be 
pitied?  Can  there  be  a  more  miserable  existence  than  the  one 
he  leads?  He  has  acted  unfairly  and  selfishly  towards  you,  but 
has  he  not  been  bitterly  punished  ?  He  loves  you  with  a  passion 
deep  and  sincere,  worthy  of  you  to  have  inspired,  yet  he  knows 
that  your  only  feeling  towards  him  is  insurmountable  aversion 
and  contempt.  In  his  feeble,  suffering  child  he  beholds  a  con- 
stant reproach;  nor  is  that  all  he  is  called  upon  to  endure, 
jealousy  also  assails  him  with  her  nameless  tortures." 

"  And  how  can  I  help  that,  my  lord  ?  By  giving  him  no  oc- 
casion for  jealousy,  you  reply.  And  certainly  you  are  right. 
But  think  you,  because  no  other  person  would  possess  my  love, 
it  would  any  the  more  be  his?  He  knows  full  well  it  would  not. 
Since  the  fearful  scene  I  related  to  you,  we  have  lived  entirely 
apart;  while  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  I  have  kept  up  every 
necessary  appearance  of  married  happiness.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  yourself,  my  lord,  I  have  never  breathed  a  syllable  of 
this  fatal  secret  to  mortal  ears :  thus,  therefore,  I  venture  to  ask 
advice  of  you  I  could  not  solicit  from  any  human  being." 


412  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"And  I,  madame,  can  with  truth  assure  you,  that,  if  the 
trifling  service  I  have  rendered  you  be  deemed  worthy  of  notice, 
I  hold  myself  a  thousand  times  overpaid  by  the  confidence  you 
have  reposed  in  me.  But,  since  you  deign  to  ask  my  advice, 
and  permit  me  to  speak  candidly " 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  lord,  I  beseech  you  to  use  the  frankness  and 
sincerity  you  would  show  to  a  sister ! " 

"  Then  allow  me  to  tell  you  that,  for  want  of  employing  one 
of  your  most  precious  qualities,  you  lose  vast  enjoyments,  which 
would  not  only  fill  up  that  void  in  your  heartjbut  would  distract 
you  from  your  domestic  sorrows  and  supply  that  need  of  stirring 
emotions,  excitement,  and,"  added  the  prince,  smiling,  "  I  dare 
almost  to  venture  to  add  (pray  forgive  me  for  having  so  bad  an 
opinion  of  your  sex,)  that  natural  love  for  mystery  and  intrigue 
which  exercises  so  powerful  an  empire  over  many,  if  not  all, 
females/' 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that,  if  you  would  play  at  the  game  of  doing  good, 
nothing  would  please  or  interest  you  more." 

Madame  d'Harville  surveyed  Rodolph  with  astonishment. 

"  And  understand,"  resumed  he,  "  I  speak  not  of  sending 
large  sums  carelessly,  almost  disdainfully,  to  unfortunate  crea- 
tures, of  whom  you  know  nothing,  and  who  are  frequently  un- 
deserving of  your  favor.  But  if  you  would  amuse  yourself,  as  I 
do,  at  playing  from  time  to  time  at  the  game  of  Providence,  you 
would  acknowledge  that  occasionally  our  good  deeds  put  on  all 
the  piquancy  and  charms  of  a  romance." 

"  I  must  confess,  my  lord,"  said  Clemence,  with  a  smile,  "  it 
never  occurred  to  me  to  class  charity  under  the  head  of 
amusements." 

"  It  is  a  discovery  I  owe  to  my  horror  of  all  tediums,  all 
wearisome,  long-protracted  affairs — a  sort  of  horror  which  has 
been  principally  inspired  by  long  political  conferences  and  min- 
isterial discussions.  But  to  return  to  our  game  of  amusing 
beneficence:  I  cannot,  alas,  aspire  to  possess  that  disinterested 
virtue  which  makes  some  people  content  to  intrust  others  with 
the  office  of  either  ill  or  well  distributing  their  bounty !  and,  if 
it  merely  required  me  to  send  one  of  my  chamberlains  to  carry 
a  few  hundred  louis  to  each  of  the  divisions  in  and  round  Paris, 
I  confess,  to  my  shame,  that  the  scheme  would  not  interest  me 
nearly  as  much  as  it  does  at  present;  while  doing  good,  after  my 
notions  on  the  subject,  is  one  of  the  most  entertaining  and  ex- 
citing amusements  you  can  imagine.  I  prefer  the  word  amus- 
ing, because  to  me  it  conveys  the  idea  of  all  that  pleases,  charms, 


CLEMENCE  D'HAR  VILLE.  413 

and  allures  us.  And  really,  madame,  if  you  would  only  become 
my  accomplice  in  a  few  dark  intrigues  of  this  sort,  you  would  see 
that,  apart  from  the  praiseworthiness  of  the  action,  nothing  is 
really  more  curious,  inviting,  attractive,  or  diverting,  than  these 
charitable  adventures.  And,  then,  what  mystery  is  requisite  to 
conceal  the  benefits  we  render !  what  precautions  to  prevent 
ourselves  from  being  discovered !  what  varied,  yet  powerful, 
emotions  are  excited  at  the  aspect  of  poor  but  worthy  people 
shedding  tears  of  joy  and  calling  down  Heaven's  blessing  on 
your  head !  Depend  upon  it,  such  a  group  is,  after  all,  more 
gratifying  than  the  pale  angry  countenance  of  either  a  jealous 
or  an  unfaithful  lover,  and  there  are  very  few  who  do  not  class 
either  under  one  head  or  the  other.  The  emotions  I  describe 
are  closely  allied  to  those  you  experienced  this  morning  while 
going  to  the  Rue  du  Temple.  Simply  dressed,  that  you  may 
escape  observation,  you  go  forth  with  a  palpitating  heart;  you 
also  ascend  with  a  throbbing  breast  some  modest  fiacre,  care- 
fully drawing  down  the  blinds  to  prevent  yourself  from  being 
seen ;  then,  looking  cautiously  from  side  to  side  that  you  are  not 
observed,  you  quickly  enter  a  mean-looking  dwelling,  just  like 
this  morning,  you  see,  the  only  difference  being,  that  whereas 
to-day  you  said,  *  If  I  am  discovered  I  am  lost ! '  then  you  would 
only  smile  as  you  mentally  uttered,  '  If  I  am  discovered,  they 
will  overwhelm  me  with  praises  and  blessings!'  Now,  since 
you  possess  your  many  adorable  qualities  in  all  their  pure 
modesty,  you  would  employ  the  most  artful  schemes,  the  most 
complicated  maneuvers,  to  prevent  yourself  from  being  known, 
and  consequently  wept  over  and  blessed  as  an  angel  of  goodness." 

"Ah,  my  lord/'  cried  Madame  d'Harville,  deeply  moved, 
"you  are  indeed  my  preserver!  I  cannot  express  the  new 
ideas,  the  consoling  hopes,  awakened  within  me  by  your  vrords. 
You  are  quite  right ;  to  endeavor  to  gain  the  blessing  and  grati- 
tude of  such  as  are  poor  and  in  misery  is  almost  equal  to  being 
loved  even  as  7  would  wish  to  be;  nay,  it  is  even  superior  in  its 
purity  and  absence  of  self.  When  I  compare  the  existence  I  now 
venture  to  anticipate  with  the  shameful  and  degraded  lot  I  was 
preparing  for  myself,  my  own  reproaches  become  more  bitter 
and  severe." 

"  I  should,  indeed,  be  grieved,"  said  Eodolph,  smiling,  "  were 
that  to  be  the  case,  since  all  my  desire  is  to  make  you  forget  the 
past,  and  to  prove  to  you  that  there  are  various  modes  of  re- 
creating and  distracting  our  minds:  the  means  of  good  and  evil 
are  very  frequently  nearly  the  same,  it  is  the  end,  only,  which 
differs.  In  a  word,  if  good  is  as  attractive,  as  amusing,  as  evil, 


414  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

why  should  we  prefer  the  latter?  I  am  going  to  use  a  very 
commonplace  and  hackneyed  simile.  Why  do  many  women  take 
as  lovers  men  not  nearly  as  worthy  of  that  distinction  as  their 
own  husbands?  Because  the  greatest  charm  of  love  consists 
in  the  difficulties  which  surround  it;  for  once  deprived  of  the 
hopes,  the  fears,  the  anxieties,  difficulties,  mysteries,  and  dangers, 
and  little  or  nothing  would  remain,  merely  the  lover,  stripped 
of  all  the  prestige  derivable  from  these  causes,  and  a  very  every- 
day object  he  would  appear;  very  much  after  the  fashion  of  the 
individual  who,  when  asked  by  a  friend  why  he  did  not  marry 
his  mistress,  replied,  '  Why  I  was  thinking  of  it,  but,  if  I  did, 
where  should  I  go  to  pass  my  evenings  ?  " 

"  Your  picture  is  colored  after  nature,  my  lord,"  said  Madame 
d'Harville,  smiling. 

"  Well,  then,  if  I  can  find  the  means  of  enabling  you  to  ex- 
perience the  fears,  the  anxieties,  the  excitement,  which  seem  to 
have  such  charms  for  you,  if  I  can  render  useful  your  natural 
love  for  mystery  and  romance,  your  inclination  for  dissimula- 
tion and  artifice, — you  see  my  bad  opinion  of  your  sex  will  peep 
out  in  spite  of  me/'  added  Rodolph,  gaily, — "  shall  I  not  change 
into  fine  and  generous  qualities  instincts,  which  otherwise  are 
mere  ungovernable  and  unmanageable  impulses,  excellent,  if 
well  employed,  most  fatal,  if  directed  badly.  Now,  then,  what 
do  you  say  ?  shall  we  get  up  all  manner  of  benevolent  plots  and 
charitable  dissipations?  We  will  have  our  rendezvous,  our 
correspondence,  our  secrets,,  and,  above  all,  we  will  carefully 
conceal  all  our  doings  from  the  marquis,  for  your  visit  of  to-day 
to  the  Morels  has,  in  all  probability,  excited  his  suspicions. 
There,  you  see,  it  only  requires  your  consent  to  commence  a 
regular  intrigue." 

"  I  accept  with  joy  and  gratitude  the  mysterious  associations 
you  propose,  my  lord,"  said  Clemence ;  "  and,  by  way  of  begin- 
ning our  romance,  I  will  return  to-morrow  to  visit  those  poor 
creatures  to  whom,  unfortunately,  this  morning  I  could  only  utter 
a  few  words  of  consolation ;  for,  taking  advantage  of  my  terror 
and  alarm,  the  purse  you  so  thoughtfully  supplied  me  with  was 
stolen  from  me  by  a  lame  boy  as  I  ascended  the  stairs.  Ah,  my 
lord,"  added  Clemence  (and  her  countenance  lost  the  expression 
of  gentle  gaiety  by  which  a  few  minutes  before  it  was  animated), 
"  if  you  only  knew  what  misery,  what  a  picture  of  wretchedness 

No !  oh,  no !  I  never  could  have  believed  so  horrid  a  scene, 

or  that  such  want  existed;  and  yet  I  bewail  my  condition  and 
complain  of  my  severe  destiny." 

Rodolph,  wishing  to  conceal  from  Madame  d'Harville  how 


CLEMEN  CE  D'UAR  VILLE.  415 

deeply  he  was  touched  at  this  application  of  the  woes  of  others, 
as  teaching  patience  and  resignation,  yet  fully  recognizing  in  the 
meek  and  subdued  spirit  the  fine  and  noble  qualities  of  her 
mind,  said,  gaily, — 

"  With  your  permission,  I  shall  except  the  Morels  from  your 
jurisdiction;  you  shall  resign  them  to  my  care,  and,  above  all 
things,  promise  me  not  again  to  enter  that  miserable  place,  for, 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  live  there." 

"  You,  my  lord  ?    What  an  idea  !  " 

"  Nay  but  you  really  must  believe  me  when  I  say  I  live 
there,  for  it  is  actually  true.  I  confess  mine  is  somewhat  a 
humble  lodging,  a  mere  matter  of  eight  pounds  a  year,  in  addi- 
tion to  which  I  pay  the  large  and  liberal  sum  of  six  francs 
a  month  to  the  porteress,  Madame  Pipelet,  that  ugly  old  woman 
you  saw ;  but,  to  make  up  for  all  this,  I  have  as  my  next  neighbor 
Mademoiselle  Rigolette,  the  prettiest  grisette  in  the  Quartier  du 
Temple.  And  you  must  allow  that,  for  a  merchant's  clerk,  with 
a  salary  of  only  seventy-two  pounds  a  year  (I  pass  as  a  clerk), 
such  a  domicile  is  well  suited  to  my  means." 

"  Your  unhoped-for  presence  in  that  fatal  house  proves  to  me 
that  you  are  speaking  seriously,  my  lord ;  some  generous  action 
leads  you  there,  no  doubt!  But  what  good  action  do  you 
reserve  for  me  ?  what  part  do  you  propose  for  me  to  sustain  ?  " 

"That  of  an  angel  of  consolation,  and — pray  excuse  and 
allow  me  the  word — a  very  demon  of  cunning  and  maneuvers! 
For  there  are  some  wounds  so  painful  as  well  as  delicate,  that 
the  hand  of  a  woman  only  can  watch  over  and  heal  them.  There 
are,  also,  unfortunate  beings,  so  proud,  so  reserved,  and  so  hidden 
from  observation,  that  it  requires  uncommon  penetration  to 
discover  them,  and  an  irresistible  charm  to  win  their  confidence." 

"  And  when  shall  I  have  an  opportunity  of  displaying  the 
penetration  and  skill  for  which  you  give  me  credit?"  asked 
Madame  d'Harville  impatiently. 

"  Soon,  I  hope,  you  will  have  to  make  a  conquest  worthy  of 
you.  But,  to  succeed,  you  must  employ  all  your  most  ingenious 
resources." 

"  And  when,  my  lord,  will  you  confide  this  great  secret  to 
me?" 

"  Let  me  see !  You  perceive,  we  have  already  got  as  far  as 
arranging  our  rendezvous.  Could  you  do  me  the  favor  to  grant 
me  an  audience  in  four  days'  time?" 

"  Dear  me !  so  long  first  ?  "  said  Cl&nence,  innocently. 

"  But  what  would  become  of  the  mystery  of  the  affair,  and  all 
the  strict  forms  and  appearances  necessary  to  be  kept  up,  if  we 


416  TIIE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

were  to  meet  sooner  ?  Just  imagine !  If  our  partnership  were 
suspected,  people  would  be  on  their  guard,  and  we  should 
seldom  achieve  our  purpose.  I  may  very  probably  have  to 
write  to  you.  Who  was  that  aged  female  who  brought  me  your 
note?" 

"  An  old  servant  of  my  mother's,  the  very  personification  of 
prudence  and  discretion." 

"  I  will  then  address  my  letters  under  cover  to  her,  and  she 
will  deliver  them  into  your  hands.  If  you  are  kind  enough 
to  return  any  answer,  address  'To  M.  Kodolph,  Eue  Plumet,' 
and  let  your  maid  put  your  letters  in  the  post." 

"  I  will  do  that  myself,  my  lord,  when  taking  my  usual  morn- 
ing's walk." 

"  Do  you  often  walk  out  alone  ?  " 

"  In  fine  weather,  nearly  every  day." 

"  That's  right !  It  is  a  custom  all  young  women  should 
observe  from  the  very  earliest  period  of  their  marriage — either 
from  a  good  or  an  improper  provision  against  future  evil.  The 
habit  once  established,  it  becomes  what  the  lawyers  style  a 
precedent;  and,  in  subsequent  days,  these  habitual  promenades 
excite  no  dangerous  interpretations.  If  I  had  been  a  woman 
(and,  between  ourselves,  I  fear  I  should  have  been  very  chari- 
table, but  equally  flighty),  the  very  day  after  my  marriage  I 
should,  in  all  possible  innocence,  have  taken  the  most  mysterious 
steps,  and,  with  perfect  simplicity,  have  involved  myself  in  all 
manner  of  suspicious  and  compromising  proceedings,  for  the 
purpose  of  establishing  the  precedent  I  spoke  of,  in  order  to  be 
at  liberty  either  to  visit  my  poor  pensioners  or  to  meet  my 
lover." 

"  But  that  would  be  downright  perfidy  to  one's  husband,  would 
it  not,  my  lord?"  said  Madame  d'Harville,  smiling. 

"  Fortunately  for  you,  madame,  you  have  never  been  driven 
to  the  necessity  of  admitting  the  utility  of  such  provisionary 
measures." 

Madame  d'Harville's  smile  left  her  lips.  She  cast  down  her 
eyes,  and,  blushing  deeply,  said,  in  a  low  and  sad  voice,  "  This 
is  not  generous,  my  lord  !  " 

At  first  Eodolph  regarded  the  marquise  with  astonishment, 
then  added,  "I  understand  you,  madame.  But,  once  for  all, 
let  us  weigh  well  your  position  as  regards  M.  Charles  Eobert. 
I  will  just  imagine  that  one  of  your  acquaintances  may  one  day 
have  pointed  out  to  you  one  of  those  pitiable-looking  mendicants 
who  roll  their  eyes  most  sentimentally,  and  play  or  the  clarionet 
with  desperate  energy,  to  awaken  the  sympathy  of  the  passers- 


CLEMENCE  D'HARVILLE.  417 

by.  'That  is  really  and  truly  a  genuine  case  of  distress,' 
observes  your  friend.  '  That  interesting  musician  has  at  least 
seven  children,  and  a  wife  deaf,  dumb,  blind,  etc.  '  Ah,  poor 
fellow ! '  you  reply,  charitably  aiding  him  with  your  purse. 
And  so,  each  time  you  meet  this  case  of  genuine  distress,  the 
clarionet  player,  the  moment  he  discerns  you  from  afar,  fixes 
his  imploring  eyes  upon  you,  while  the  most  touching  strains 
of  his  instrument  are  directed  to  touch  your  charitable  sym- 
pathies, and  that,  too,  so  successfully,  that  again  your  purse 
opens  at  this  fresh  appeal.  One  day,  more  than  usually  disposed 
to  pity  this  very  unfortunate  object  by  the  importunities  of  the 
friend  who  first  pointed  him  out  to  you,  and  who  is  most 
wickedly  abusing  your  generous  heart,  you  resolve  to  visit  this 
case  of  genuine  distress,  as  your  false  friend  terms  it,  and  to 
behold  the  poor  object  of  your  solicitude  in  the  midst  of  his 
misery.  Well,  you  go.  But,  lo !  the  grief-stricken  musician  has 
vanished;  and  in  his  place  you  find  a  lively,  rollicking  fellow, 
enjoying  himself  over  some  of  the  good  things  of  this  world, 
and  mirthfully  caroling  forth  the  last  new  alehouse  catch.  Then 
disgust  succeeds  to  pity;  for  you  have  bestowed  your  sympathy 
and  charity  alike  upon  a  mere  impostor,  neither  more  nor  less. 
Is  it  not  so?" 

Madame  d'Harville  could  not  restrain  a  smile  at  this  singular 
apologue.  She,  however,  soon  checked  it,  as  she  added, — 

"  However  grateful  I  may  feel  for  this  mode  of  justifying  my 
great  imprudence,  my  lord,  I  can  but  confess  I  dare  not  avail 
myself  of  so  favorable  a  pretext  as  that  of  mistaken  charity." 

"  Yet,  after  all,  yours  was  an  error  based  upon  motives  of  noble 
and  generous  pity  for  the  wounded  feelings  of  one  you  believed 
a  genuine  object  for  commiseration.  Fortunately,  there  are  so 
many  ways  left  you  of  atoning  for  one  indiscretion,  that  your 
regret  need  be  but  small.  Shall  I  not  have  the  pleasure  of  see- 
ing M.  d'Harville  this  evening?  " 

"  No,  my  lord.  The  scene  of  this  morning  has  so  much  af- 
fected him  that  he  is — ill,"  said  the  marquise,  in  a  low,  tremu- 
lous tone. 

"Ah,"  replied  Eodolph,  sadly,  "I  understand!  Come, 
courage !  you  were  saying  that  you  required  an  aim,  a  motive,  a 
means  of  directing  your  thoughts.  Permit  me  to  hope  that  all 
this  will  be  accomplished  by  following  out  the  plan  I  have  pro- 
posed. Your  heart  will  be  then  so  filled  with  the  delightful  recol- 
lection of  all  the  happiness  you  have  caused,  and  all  the  good 
you  have  effected,  that,  in  all  probability,  you  will  find  no  room 
for  resentment  against  your  husband.  In  place  of  angry  feel- 


418  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

ings,  you  will  regard  him  with  the  same  sorrowing  pity  you  look 
on  your  dear  child.  And  as  for  the  interesting  little  creature 
herself,  now  you  have  confided  to  me  the  cause  of  her  delicate 
health,  I  almost  think  myself  warranted  in  bidding  you  yet  enter- 
tain hopes  of  overcoming  the  fearful  complaint  which  has 
hitherto  affected  her  tender  frame." 

"  Oh,  my  lord ! "  exclaimed  Clemence,  clasping  her  hands 
with  eagerness,  "  can  it  be  possible  ?  How  ? — in  what  manner 
can  my  child  be  saved  ?  " 

"  I  have,  as  physician  to  myself  and  household,  a  man  almost 
unknown,  though  possessed  of  first-rate  science.  Great  part 
of  his  life  was  passed  in  America;  and  I  remember  his 
speaking  to  me  of  some  marvelous  cures  performed  by  him  on 
slaves  attacked  by  this  distressing  complaint." 

"  And  do  you  really  think,  my  lord " 

"  Nay,  you  must  not  allow  yourself  to  dwell  too  confidently 
upon  success;  the  disappointment  would  be  so  very  severe. 
Only,  do  not  let  us  wholly  despair." 

Clemence  d'Harville  cast  a  hasty  glance  of  unutterable  grati- 
tude over  the  noble  features  of  Rodolph,  the  firm,  unflinching 
friend,  who  reconciled  her  to  herself  with  so  much  good  sense, 
intelligence,  and  delicacy  of  feeling.  Then  she  asked  herself 
how,  for  one  instant,  she  could  ever  have  been  interested  in  the 
fate  of  such  a  being  as  M.  Charles  Robert — the  very  idea  was 
hateful  to  her. 

"  What  do  I  not  owe  you,  my  lord  ?  "  cried  she,  in  a  voice  of 
thrilling  emotion ;  "  you  console  me  for  the  past ;  you  open  to  me 
a  glimpse  of  hope  for  my  child ;  and  you  place  before  me  a  plan 
of  future  occupation  which  shall  afford  me  both  consolation  and 
the  delight  of  doing  my  duty.  Ah,  was  I  not  right  when  I  said 
that,  if  you  would  come  here  to-night,  you  would  finish  the  day 
as  you  had-  begun  it — by  performing  a  good  action  ?  " 

"  And  pray,  madame,  do  not  omit  to  add, — an  action  after  my 
own  heart,  where  all  is  pleasure  and  unmixed  enjoyment  in  its 
performance.  And  now,  adieu!"  said  Rodolph  rising  as  the 
clock  struck  half-past  eleven. 

"  Adieu,  my  lord !  and  pray  do  not  forget  to  send  me  news 
ere  long  of  those  poor  people  in  the  Rue  du  Temple." 

"  I  will  see  them  to-morrow,  for,  unfortunately,  I  knew  not 
of  that  little  limping  rascal  having  stolen  your  purse ;  and  I  fear 
that  the  unhappy  creatures  are  in  the  most  deplorable  want. 
Have  the  kindness  to  bear  in  mind  that,  in  the  course  of  four 
days,  I  shall  come  to  explain  to  you  the  nature  of  the  part  you 
will  be  required  to  undertake.  One  thing  I  must  prepare  you 


MISERY.  419 

for;  and  that  is,  the  probability  of  its  being  requisite  for  you 
to  assume  a  disguise  on  the  occasion." 

"  A  disguise  ? — oh,  how  charming !  What  sort  of  one,  my 
lord  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  at  present.  I  will  leave  the  choice  to  you." 
****** 

"  All  that  is  requisite,"  said  the  prince,  on  his  return  home, 
"  to  save  this  excellent  woman  from  the  perils  of  another  attach- 
ment is  to  fill  her  mind  with  generous  thoughts;  and,  since  an 
invincible  repugnance  separates  her  from  her  husband,  to  em- 
ploy her  love  for  the  romantic  in  such  charitable  actions  as  shall 
require  being  enshrouded  in  mystery." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

MISERY. 

THE  reader  has  probably  not  forgotten  that  the  garret  in  the 
Rue  du  Temple  was  occupied  by  an  unfortunate  family,  the 
father  of  whom  was  a  working  lapidary,  named  Morel.  We  shall 
now  endeavor  to  describe  the  wretched  abode  of  Morel  and  his 
children. 

It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  morning;  a  deep  silence  dwelt  around. 
The  streets  were  still  deserted,  for  the  snow  fell  fast,  and  the 
cold  biting  wind  froze  as  it  blew.  A  miserable  candle,  stuck 
upon  a  small  block  of  wood,  and  supported  by  two  slips  of  the 
same  material,  scarcely  penetrated  with  its  yellow  flickering 
light  the  misty  darkness  of  the  garret, — a  narrow,  low-built 
place,  two-thirds  of  which  were  formed  by  the  sloping  roof, 
which  communicated  by  a  sharp  angle  with  the  wretched  floor- 
ing, and  freely  exposed  the  moss-covered  tiles  of  the  outer  roof. 
Walls  covered  with  plaster,  blackened  by  time,  and  split  into 
countless  crevices,  displayed  the  rotten,  worm-eaten  laths,  which 
formed  the  frail  division  from  other  chambers,  while  in  one 
corner  of  this  deplorable  habitation  a  door  off  the  hinges  opened 
upon  a  narrow  staircase.  The  ground,  of  a  nameless  color,  but 
foul,  fetid,  and  slippery,  was  partly  strewed  with  bits  of  dirty 
straw,  old  rags,  and  bones,  the  residue  of  that  unwholesome  and 
vitiated  food  sold  by  the  dealers  in  condemned  meat,  and  fre- 
quently bought  by  starving  wretches,  for  the  purpose  of  gnawing 
the  few  cartilages  that  may  adhere.* 

*  It  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  meet,  in  densely  crowded  parts  of  Paris, 
with  persons  who  openly  sell  the  flesh  of  animals  born  dead,  as  well  as  of 
others  who  have  died  of  disease,  etc, 


420  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

So  wretched  a  condition  either  arises  from  improvidence  and 
vice,  or  from  unavoidable  misery, — misery  so  great,  so  over- 
whelming, and  paralyzing,  as  to  enfeeble  every  energy,  and  to 
render  the  unhappy  object  of  it  too  hopeless,  too  despairing, 
even  to  attempt  to  extricate  himself  from  the  squalor  of  his  utter 
destitution,  and  he  crouches  in  his  dirt  and  desolation  like  an 
animal  in  its  den. 

During  the  day,  Morel's  garret  was  lighted  by  a  species  of 
long,  narrow  skylight  formed  in  the  descending  roof,  framed  and 
glazed,  and  made  to  open  and  shut  by  means  of  a  pulley  and 
string;  but,  at  the  hour  which  we  are  describing,  a  heavy  fall  of 
snow  encumbered  the  window,  and  effectually  prevented  its  af- 
fording any  light.  The  candle  placed-  on  Morel's  working-table, 
which  stood  in  the  center  of  the  chamber,  diffused  a  kind  of  halo 
of  pale,  sickly  beams,  which,  gradually  diminishing,  was  at  last 
lost  in  the  dim  shadow  which  overspread  the  place,  in  whose 
murky  duskiness  might  be  seen  the  faint  outline  of  several  white- 
looking  masses.  On  the  work-table,  which  was  merely  a  heavy 
and  roughly  cut  wooden  block  of  unpolished  oak,  covered  with 
grease  and  soot,  lay,  loosely  scattered  about,  a  handful  of  rubies 
and  diamonds,  of  more  than  ordinary,  size  and  brillancy,  while, 
as  the  mean  rays  of  the  small  candle  were  reflected  on  them, 
they  glittered  and  sparkled  like  so  many  coruscating  fires. 

Morel  was  a  worker  of  real  stones,  and  not  FALSE  ones,  as  he 
had  given  out,  and  as  was  universally  believed,  in  the  Rue  du 
Temple.  Thanks  to  this  innocent  deception,  the  costly  jewels 
intrusted  to  him  were  merely  supposed  to  be  so  many  pieces 
of  glass,  too  valueless  to  tempt  the  cupidity  of  any  one.  Such 
riches,  confided  to  the  care  of  one  as  poor  and  miserably  des- 
titute as  Morel,  will  render  any  reference  to  the  honesty  of  his 
character  quite  unnecessary. 

Seated  on  a  high  stool,  and  wholly  overcome  by  fatigue,  cold, 
and  weariness,  after  a  long  winter's  night,  passed  in  unceasing 
labor,  the  poor  lapidary  had  fallen  asleep  on  his  block,  with  his 
head  upon  his  half-frozen  arms,  and  his  forehead  resting  against 
a  small  grindstone,  placed  horizontally  on  the  table,  and  gen- 
erally put  in  motion  by  a  little  hand-wheel,  while  a  fine  steel 
saw,  and  various  other  tools  belonging  to  his  trade,  were  lying 
beside  him.  The  man  himself,  of  whom  nothing  but  the  skull, 
surrounded  by  a  fringe  of  gray  hairs,  was  visible,  was  dressed  • 
in  a  shabby  fustian  jacket,  without  any  species  of  linen  or  gar- 
ment beneath  it,  and  an  old  pair  of  cloth  trousers,  while  his 
worn-out  slippers  scarcely  concealed  the  blue,  cold  feet  they 
partially  covered,  from  resting  solely  on  the  damp,  shiny  floor; 


MISERY.  421 

and  so  bitter,  so  freezing,  was  the  sharp  winter  wind  which  freely 
entered  into  this  scarcely  human  dwelling,  that,  spite  of  the 
weariness  and  exhaustion  of  the  overworked  artisan,  his  frame 
shuddered  and  shivered  with  involuntary  frequency.  The 
length  of  the  wick  of  the  unsnuffed  candle  bespoke  the  length 
of  time  even  this  uneasy  slumber  must  have  lasted,  and 
no  sound,  save  his  troubled  and  irregular  breathing,  broke  the 
deathlike  silence  that  prevailed;  for,  alas!  the  other  occupants 
of  this  mean  abode  were  not  so  fortunate  as  to  be  able  to  forget 
their  sufferings  in  sleep.  Yet  this  narrow,  pent-up,  unwholesome 
spot  contained  no  less  than  seven  other  persons — five  children, 
the  youngest  of  whom  was  four  years  of  age,  the  eldest  twelve,  a 
sick  and  declining  wife,  with  an  aged  grandmother,  the  parent 
of  Morel's  wife,  now  in  her  eightieth  year,  and  an  idiot ! 

The  cold  must  have  been  intense,  indeed,  when  the  natural 
warmth  of  so  many  persons,  so  closely  packed  together  in  so 
small  a  place,  could  not  in  any  way  affect  the  freezing  atmos- 
phere; it  was  evident,  therefore,  to  speak  scientifically,  that  but 
little  caloric  was  given  out  by  the  poor,  weak,  emaciated,  shiver- 
ing creatures,  all  suffering  and  almost  expiring  with  cold  and 
hunger,  from  the  puny  infant  to  the  idiotic  old  grandmother. 

With  the  exception  of  the  father  of  the  family,  who  had  tem- 
porarily yielded  to  the  aching  of  his  heavy  eyelids,  no  other 
creature  slept — no  other;  because  cold,  starvation,  and  sickness, 
will  not  allow  so  sweet  an  enjoyment  as  the  closing  the  eyes  in 
peaceful  rest.  Little  does  the  world  believe  how  rarely  comes 
that  sound,  healthful,  and  refreshing  slumber  to  the  poor  man's 
pillow,  which  at  once  invigorates  the  mind  and  body,  and  sends 
the  willing  laborer  back  to  his  toil  refreshed  and  recruited  by 
the  blessing  of  a  beneficent  Creator.  To  taste  of  nature's 
sweet,  refreshing,  balmy  sleep,  sickness,  sorrow,  poverty,  and 
mental  disquietude,  must  not  share  the  humble  pallet. 

In  contrasting  the  deep  misery  of  the  poor  artisan,  with  whose 
woes  we  are  now  occupying  the  reader,  with  the  immense  value 
of  the  jewelry  confided  to  him,  we  are  struck  by  one  of  those 
comparisons  which  afflict  while  they  elevate  the  mind.  With  the 
distracting  spectacle  of  his  family's  want  and  wretchedness,  em- 
bracing a  wide  field  from  cold  and  hunger  to  driveling  idiocy, 
constantly  before  his  eyes,  this  man,  in  the  pursuance  of  his 
daily  labor,  is  compelled  to  touch,  and  handle,  and  gaze  upon, 
bright  and  sparkling  gems,  the  smallest  of  which  would  be  a 
mine  of  wealth  to  him,  and  save  those  dearest  to  him  from 
sufferings  and  privations  which  wring  his  very  heart,  would 
snatch  them  from  the  slow  and  lingering  death  which  is  con- 


422  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

suming  them  before  his  eyes.  Yet,  amid  all  these  trials  and 
temptations,  the  artisan  remains  firmly,  truly,  and  unflinch- 
ingly honest,  and  would  no  more  appropriate  one  of  the  glitter- 
ing stones  intrusted  to  him  than  he  would  satisfy  his  hunger  at 
the  expense  of  his  starving  babes.  Doubtless  the  man  but 
performed  his  duty  to  his  employer — his  simple  duty;  but, 
because  it  is  enjoined  to  all  to  be  honest  and  faithful  in  that 
which  is  committed  to  them,  does  that  render  the  action  itself 
less  noble,  magnanimous,  or  praiseworthy?  Is  not  this  un- 
fortunate artisan,  so  courageously,  so  bravely  upright  and 
honest  while  intrusted  with  the  property  of  another,  the  type  and 
model  of  an  immense  class  of  working  people,  who,  doomed  to 
a  life  of  continual  poverty  and  privation,  see,  with  calm,  patient 
looks,  thousands  of  their  brethren  rolling  in  splendor  and 
abounding  in  riches,  yet  they  toil  on,  resigned  and  unenvying, 
but  still  industriously  striving  for  bread  their  hardest  efforts 
cannot  always  procure?  And  is  there  not  something  consola- 
tory, as  well  as  gratifying  to  our  feelings,  to  consider  that  it 
is  neither  force  nor  terror,  but  good  natural  sense  and  a  right 
mind,  which  alone  restrain  this  formidable  ocean,  this  heaving 
mass,  whose  bounds  once  broken  a  moral  inundation  would 
ensue,  in  which  society  itself  would  be  swallowed  up  ?  Shall  we, 
then,  refuse  to  co-operate  with  all  the  powers  of  our  mind  and 
body  with  those  generous  and  enlightened  spirits,  who  ask  but  a 
little  sunshine  for  so  much  misfortune,  courage,  and  resigna- 
tion? 

****** 

Let  us  now  return  to  the  alas !  too  true  specimen  of  distressing 
want  we  shall  endeavor  to  describe  in  all  its  fearful  and  start- 
ling reality. 

The  lapidary  possessed  only  a  thin  mattress  and  a  portion  of 
a  blanket  appropriated  to  the  old  grandmother,  who,  in  her 
stupid  and  ferocious  selfishness,  would  not  allow  any  person  to 
share  them  with  her.  In  the  beginning  of  the  winter  she  had 
become  quite  violent,  and  had  even  attempted  to  strangle  the 
youngest  child,  who  had  been  put  to  sleep  with  her:  this  poor 
infant  was  a  sickly  little  creature  of  about  four  years  old,  now 
far  more  in  consumption,  and  who  found  it  too  cold  inside  the 
mattress,  where  she  slept  with  her  brothers  and  sisters.  Here- 
after we  shall  explain  this  mode  of  sleeping  so  frequently  em- 
ployed by  the  very  poor,  in  comparison  with  whom  the  very 
animals  are  treated  luxuriously,  for  their  litter  is  changed. 
Such  was  the  picture  presented  in  the  humble  garret  of  the  poor 
lapidary,  when  the  eye  was  enabled  to  pierce  the  gloomy 


MISERY.  423 

penumbra  caused  by  the  flickering  rays  of  the  candle.  By  the 
side  of  the  partition-wall,  not  less  damp  and  cracked  than  the 
others,  was  placed  on  the  floor  the  mattress  on  which  the  idiot 
grandmother  reposed;  as  she  could  not  bear  anything  on  her 
head,  her  white  hair  was  cut  very  short,  and  revealed  the  shape 
of  her  head  and  flat  forehead;  while  her  shaggy,  gray  eyebrows 
shaded  the  deep  orbits,  from  which  glared  a  wild,  savage,  yet 
crafty,  look;  her  pale,  hollow  wrinkled  cheeks  hung  upon  the 
bones  of  the  face  and  the  sharp  angles  of  her  jaws.  Lying  upon 
her  side,  and  almost  doubled  up,  her  chin  nearly  touching  her 
knees,  she  lay,  shivering  with  cold,  beneath  the  gray  rug,  too 
small  to  cover  her  all  over,  and  which,  as  she  drew  it  over  her 
shoulders,  exposed  her  thin  emaciated  legs,  as  well  as  the 
wretched  old  petticoat  in  which  she  was  clad.  An  odor  most 
fetid  and  repulsive  issued  from  this  bed. 

At  a  little  distance  from  the  mattress  of  the  grandmother, 
and  still  extending  along  the  side  of  the  wall,  was  placed  the 
paillasse  which  served  as  a  sleeping-place  for  the  five  children, 
who  were  accommodated  after  the  following  manner : — 

An  opening  was  made  at  each  side  of  the  cloth  which  covered 
the  straw,  and  the  children  were  inserted  into  this  bed,  or, 
rather,  foul  and  noisome  dunghill,  the  outer  case  serving  both 
for  sheet  and  counterpane.  Two  little  girls,  one  of  whom  was 
extremely  ill,  shivered  on  one  side,  and  three  young  boys  on  the 
other,  all  going  to  bed  without  undressing,  if,  indeed,  the 
miserable  rags  they  wore  could  be  termed  clothes.  Masses  of 
thick,  dry,  light  hair,  tangled,  ragged,  and  uncombed,  left  uncut 
because  their  poor  mother  fancied  it  helped  to  keep  them  warm, 
half  covered  their  pale,  thin,  pinched  features.  One  of  the  boys 
drew  with  his  cold,  benumbed  fingers  the  covering  over  their 
straw  bed  up  to  his  chin,  in  order  to  defend  himself  from  the 
cold;  while  another,  fearful  of  exposing  his  hands  to  the  in- 
fluence of  the  frost,  tried  to  grasp  the  bed-covering  with  his 
teeth,  which  rattled  and  shook  in  his  head ;  while  a  third  strove 
to  huddle  up  to  his  brothers  in  hopes  of  gaining  a  little  warmth. 
The  youngest  of  the  two  girls,  fatally  attacked  by  consumption, 
leaned  her  poor  little  face,  which  already  bore  the  hue  of  death, 
languidly  against  the  chilly  bosom  of  her  sister,  a  girl  just  one 
year  older,  who  vainly  sought  by  pressing  her  in  her  arms  to 
impart  comfort  and  ease  to  the  little  sufferer,  over  whom  she 
watched  with  the  anxious  solicitude  of  a  parent. 

On  another  paillasse,  also  placed  on  the  ground  at  the  foot  of 
that  of  the  children,  the  wife  of  the  artisan  was  extended,  groan- 
ing in  helpless  exhaustion  from  the  effects  of  a  slow  fever  and 


424  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

an  internal  complaint,  which  had  not  permitted  her  to  quit  her 
bed  for  several  months.  Madeleine  Morel  was  in  her  thirty-sixth 
year;  a  blue  cotton  handkerchief,  tied  round  her  low  forehead, 
made  the  bilious  pallor  of  her  countenance  and  sharp,  emaciated 
features  still  more  conspicuous.  A  dark  halo  encircled  her 
hollow,  sunken  eyes;  while  her  lips  were  split  and  bleeding 
from  the  effects  of  the  fever  which  consumed  her;  her  dejected, 
grief-worn  physiognomy,  and  small,  insignificant  features,  in- 
dicated one  of  those  gentle  but  weak  natures,  without  resource 
or  energy,  which,  unable  to  struggle  with  misfortunes,  yield  at 
once,  and  know  no  remedy  but  vain  and  ceaseless  lamentations 
and  regrets.  Weak,  spiritless,  and  of  limited  capacity,  she  had 
remained  honest  because  her  husband 'was  so;  had  she  been  left 
to  herself,  it  is  probable  that  ignorance  and  misfortune  might 
have  depraved  her  mind  and  driven  her  to  any  lengths.  She 
loved  her  husband  and  her  children,  but  she  had  neither  the 
courage  nor  resolution  to  restrain  giving  vent  to  loud  and  open 
complaints  respecting  their  mutual  misery;  and  frequently  was 
the  lapidary,  whose  unflinching  labor  alone  maintained  the 
family,  obliged  to  quit  his  work  to  console  and  pacify  the  poor 
valetudinarian.  Over  and  above  an  old  ragged  sheet,  of  coarse 
brown  cloth,  which  partially  covered  his  wife,  Morel  had,  in 
order  to  impart  a  little  warmth,  laid  a  few  old  clothes,  so  worn- 
out,  and  patched,  and  pieced,  that  the  pawnbroker  had  refused 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  them. 

A  stove,  a  saucepan,  a  damaged  earthen  stewpan,  two  or  three 
cracked  cups,  scattered  about  on  the  floor,  a  bucket,  a  board  to 
wash  on,  and  a  large  stone  pitcher,  placed  beneath  the  angle  of 
the  roof  near  the  broken  door,  which  the  wind  kept  continually 
blowing  to  and  fro,  completed  the  whole  of  the  family  pos- 
sessions. 

This  picture  of  squalid  misery  and  desolation  was  lighted  up 
by  the  candle,  whose  flame,  agitated  by  the  cold  north-easterly 
wind,  which  found  its  way  through  the  tiles  on  the  roof,  some- 
times imparted  a  pale,  unearthly  light  on  the  wretched  scene, 
and  then,  playing  on  the  heaps  of  diamonds  and  rubies  laying 
beside  the  sleeping  artisan,  caused  a  thousand  scintillating 
sparks  to  spring  forth  and  dazzle  the  eye  with  their  prismatic 
rays  of  brightness. 

Although  the  profoundest  silence  reigned  around,  seven  out 
of  the  eight  unfortunate  dwellers  in  this  attic  were  awake;  and 
each,  from  the  grandmother  to  the  youngest  child,  watched  the 
sleeping  lapidary  with  intense  emotion,  as  their  only  hope,  their 
only  resource,  and,  in  their  childlike  selfishness,  they  mur- 


MISERY.  425 

mured  at  seeing  him  thus  inactive  and  relinquishing  that 
labor  which  they  well  knew  wae  all  they  had  to  depend  on :  but 
with  different  feelings  of  regret  and  uneasiness  did  the  look- 
ers-on observe  the  slumber  of  the  toil-worn  man.  The  mother 
trembled  for  her  children's  meal;  the  children  thought  but  of 
themselves ;  while  the  idiot  neither  thought  of  nor  cared  for  any 
one.  All  at  once  she  sat  upright  in  her  wretched  bed,  crossed 
her  long  bony  arms,  yellow  and  dry  as  box-wood,  on  her  shriv- 
eled bosom,  and  kept  watching  the  candle  with  twinkling  eyes; 
then,  rising  slowly  and  stealthily,  she  crept  along,  trailing 
after  her  her  old  ragged  coverlet,  which  clung  around  her,  as 
though  it  had  been  her  winding-sheet.  She  was  above  the 
middle  height,  and  her  hair  being  so  closely  shaven  made  her 
head  appear  disproportionately  small;  a  sort  of  spasmodic 
movement  kept  up  a  constant  trembling  in  her  thick,  pendulous 
under-lip,  while  her  whole  countenance  offered  the  hideous 
model  of  ferocious  stupidity.  Slowly  and  cautiously  the  idiot 
approached  the  lapidary's  work-table,  like  a  child  about  to  com- 
mit some  forbidden  act.  When  she  reached  the  candle,  she  held 
her  two  trembling  hands  over  the  flame;  and  such  was  their 
skeleton-like  condition,  that  the  flickering  light  shone  through 
them,  imparting  a  pale,  livid  hue  to  her  features.  From  her 
pallet  Madeleine  Morel  watched  every  movement  of  the  old 
woman,  who,  still  warming  herself  over  the  candle,  stooped  her 
head,  and,  with  a  silly  kind  of  delight,  watched  the  sparkling  of 
the  diamonds  and  rubies,  which  lay  glittering  on  the  table. 
Wholly  absorbed  in  the  wondrous  contemplation  of  such  bright 
and  beautiful  things,  the  idiot  allowed  her  hands  to  fall  into 
the  flame  of  the  candle,  nor  did  she  seem  to  recollect  where 
they  were  till  the  sense  of  burning  recalled  her  attention,  when 
she  manifested  her  pain  and  anger  by  a  harsh,  screaming  cry. 

At  this  sound  Morel  started,  and  quickly  raised  his  head. 
He  was  about  forty  years  of  age,  with  an  open,  intelligent,  and 
mild  expression  of  countenance,  but  yet  wearing  the  sad,  de- 
jected look  of  one  who  had  been  the  sport  of  misery  and  mis- 
fortune till  they  had  planted  furrows  in  his  cheeks  and  crushed 
and  broken  his  spirit.  A  gray  beard  of  many  weeks'  growth 
covered  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  which  was  deeply  marked  by 
the  small-pox;  premature  wrinkles  furrowed  his  already  bald 
forehead ;  while  his  red  and  inflamed  eyelids  showed  the  over- 
taxed and  sleepless  days  and  nights  of  toil  he  so  courageously 
endured.  A  circumstance,  but  too  common  with  such  of  the 
working  class  as  are  doomed  by  their  occupation  to  remain 
nearly  all  day  in  one  position,  had  warped  his  figure,  and,  act- 


426  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

ing  upon  a  naturally  feeble  constitution,  had  produced  a  con- 
traction of  his  whole  frame.  Continually  obliged  to  stoop  over 
his  work-table  and  to  lean  to  the  left,  in  order  to  keep  his  grind- 
stone going,  the  lapidary,  in  a  manner  petrified,  ossified  in  the 
attitude  he  was  frequently  obliged  to  preserve  from  twelve  to 
fifteen  hours  a  day,  had  acquired  an  habitual  stoop  of  the  shoul- 
ders, and  was  completely  drawn  on  one  side.  So  his  left  arm, 
incessantly  exercised  by  the  difficult  management  of  the  grind- 
stone, had  acquired  a  considerable  muscular  development; 
whilst  the  right  arm,  always  inert  and  leaning  on  the  table,  the 
better  to  present  the  faces  of  the  diamonds  to  the  action  of  the 
grindstone,  had  wasted  to  the  most  extreme  attenuation;  his 
wasted  limbs,  almost  paralyzed  by  complete  want  of  exercise, 
could  scarcely  support  the  weary,  worn-out  body,  as  though  all 
strength,  substance,  and  vitality,  had  concentrated  themselves 
in  the  only  part  called  into  play  when  toiling  for  the  subsist- 
ence of,  with  himself,  eight  human  creatures. 

And  often  would  poor  Morel  touchingly  observe,  "  It  is  not 
for  myself  that  I  care  to  eat,  but  to  give  strength  to  the  arm 
which  turns  the  mill." 

Awaking  with  a  sudden  start,  the  lapidary  found  himself 
directly  opposite  to  the  poor  idiot. 

"  What  ails  you  ?  what  is  the  matter,  mother  ?  "  said  Morel ; 
and  then  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  for  fear  of  awakening  the 
family,  whom  he  hoped  and  believed  were  asleep,  "  Go  back  to 
bed,  mother ;  Madeleine  and  the  children  are  asleep ! " 

"  No,  father,"  cried  the  eldest  of  the  little  girls,  "  I  am  awake ; 
I  am  trying  to  warm  poor  little  Adele." 

"  And  I  am  too  hungry  to  go  to  sleep,"  added  one  of  the 
boys ;  "  it  was  not  my  turn  to-night  to  have  supper  with  Made- 
moiselle Eigolette." 

"  Poor  things ! "  said  Morel,  sorrowfully,  "  I  thought  you 
were  asleep —  at  least " 

"  I  was  afraid  of  awaking  you,  Morel,"  said  the  wife,  "  or  I 
should  have  begged  of  you  to  give  me  a  drink  of  water:  I  am 
devoured  with  thirst !  My  feverish  fit  has  come  on  again !  " 

"  I  will  directly,"  said  the  lapidary ;  "  only  let  me  first  get 
mother  back  to  bed.  Come !  come !  what  are  you  meddling  with 
those  stones  for?  Let  them  alone,  I  say!"  cried  he  to  the  old 
woman,  whose  whole  attention  seemed  riveted  upon  a  splendid 
ruby,  the  bright  scintillations  of  which  had  so  charmed  the  poor 
idiot,  that  she  was  trying  by  every  possible  means  to  gain  pos- 
session of  it. 

"  There's  a  pretty  thing ! — there — there ! "  replied  the  woman, 


MISERY.  427 

pointing  with  vehement  gestures  to  the  prize  she  so  ardently 
coveted. 

"  I  shall  be  angry  in  a  few  minutes,"  exclaimed  Morel, 
speaking  in  a  loud  voice  to  terrify  his  mother-in-law  into  sub- 
mission, and  gently  pushing  back  the  hand  she  advanced  to 
seize  her  desired  treasure. 

"  Oh,  Morel !  Morel !  "  murmured  Madeleine,  "  I  am  parching, 
dying  with  thirst.  How  can  you  be  so  cruel  as  refuse  me  a 
little  water?" 

"  But  how  can  I  at  present  ?  I  must  not  allow  mother  to 
meddle  with  these  stones — perhaps  to  lose  me  a  diamond,  as 
she  did  a  year  ago;  and  God  alone  knows  the  wretchedness  and 
misery  it  cost  us — ay,  may  still  occasion  us.  Ah,  that  unfortu- 
nate loss  of  the  diamond,  what  have  we  not  suffered  by  it ! " 

As  the  poor  lapidary  uttered  these  words,  he  passed  his  hand 
over  his  aching  brow  with  a  desponding  air,  and  said  to  one  of 
the  children, — 

"  Felix,  give  your  mother  something  to  drink.  You  are 
awake,  and  can  attend  to  her." 

"No,  no,"  exclaimed  Madeleine;  "he  will  take  cold.  I  will 
wait."  ' 

"  Oh,  mother,"  said  the  boy,  rising,  "  never  mind  me.  I  shall 
be  quite  as  warm  up  as  I  am  in  this  paillasse." 

"Come,  will  you  let  the  things  alone?"  cried  Morel,  in  a 
threatening  tone,  to  the  idiot  woman,  who  kept  bending  over  the 
precious  stones  and  trying  to  seize  them,  spite  of  all  his  efforts 
to  move  her  from  the  table. 

"  Mother,"  called  out  Felix,  "  what  shall  I  do?  The  water  in 
the  pitcher  is  frozen  quite  hard." 

"Then  break  the  ice,"  murmured  Madeleine. 

"  It  is  so  thick,  I  can't,"  answered  the  boy. 

"  Morel ! "  exclaimed  Madeleine,  in  a  querulous  and  impa- 
tient tone,  "  since  there  is  nothing  but  water  for  me  to  drink, 
let  me  at  least  have  a  draught  of  that !  You  are  letting  me  die 
with  thirst !  " 

"  God  of  Heaven  grant  me  patience ! "  cried  the  unfortunate 
man.  "  How  can  I  leave  your  mother  to  lose  and  destroy  these 
stones?  Pray  let  me  manage  her  first." 

But  the  lapidary  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  get  rid  of  the 
idiot,  who,  beginning  to  feel  irritated  at  the  constant  opposition 
she  met  with,  gave  utterance  to  her  displeasure  in  a  sort  of 
hideous  growl. 

"  Call  her,  wife ! "  said  Morel,  "  she  will  attend  to  you  some- 
times." 


428  £2#  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Mother !  mother ! "  called  Madeleine,  "  go  to  bed,  and  be 
good,  and  then  you  shall  have  some  of  that  nice  coffee  you  are 
so  fond  of !  " 

"  I  want  that !  and  that !  There !  there !  "  replied  the  idiot, 
making  a  desperate  effort  this  time  to  possess  herself  of  a  heap 
of  rubies  she  particularly  coveted.  Morel  firmly,  but  gently,  re- 
pulsed her — all  in  vain;  with  pertinacious  obstinacy  the  old 
woman  kept  struggling  to  break  from  his  grasp,  and  snatch  the 
bright  gems,  on  which  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  with  eager  fond- 
ness. 

"  You  will  never  manage  her,"  said  Madeleine,  "  unless  you 
frighten  her  with  the  whip;  there  is  no  other  means  of  making 
her  quiet/' 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  returned  Morel ;  "  but,  though  she  has  no 
sense,  it  yet  goes  to  my  heart  to  be  obliged  to  threaten  an  old 
woman,  like  her,  with  the  whip." 

Then,  addressing  the  old  woman,  who  was  trying  to  bite 
him,  and  whom  he  was  holding  back  with  one  hand,  he  said, 
in  a  loud  and  terrible  voice, — "  Take  care;  you'll  have  the  whip 
on  your  shoulders  if  you  don't  make  haste  to  bed  this  very  in- 
stant!" 

These  menaces  were  equally  vain  with  his  former  efforts  to 
subdue  her.  Morel  then  took  a  whip  which  lay  beside  his  work- 
table,  and,  cracking  it  violently,  said, — "  Get  to  bed  with  you 
directly !  get  to  bed !  " 

As  the  loud  noise  of  the  whip  saluted  the  ear  of  the  idiot,  she 
hurried  away  from  the  lapidary's  work-table,  then,  suddenly 
turning  round,  she  uttered  low,  grumbling  sounds  between  her 
clenched  teeth;  while  she  surveyed  her  son-in-law  with  looks  of 
the  deepest  hatred. 

"  To  bed !  to  bed,  I  say ! "  continued  he,  still  advancing,  and 
feigning  to  raise  his  whip  with  the  intention  of  striking;  while 
the  idiot,  holding  her  fist  towards  her  son-in-law,  retreated  back- 
wards to  her  wretched  couch. 

The  lapidary,  anxious  to  terminate  this  painful  scene,  that  he 
might  be  at  liberty  to  attend  to  his  sick  wife,  kept  still  advanc- 
ing towards  the  idiot  woman,  brandishing  and  cracking  his  whip, 
though  without  allowing  it  to  touch  the  unhappy  creature,  re- 
peatedly exclaiming,  "  To  bed !  to  bed — directly !  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

The  old  woman,  now  thoroughly  conquered,  and  fully  believing 
in  the  reality  of  the  threats  held  out,  began  to  howl  most  hid- 
eously; and  crawling  into  her  bed,  like  a  dog  to  his  kennel,  she 
kept  up  a  continued  series  of  cries,  screams,  and  yells,  while  the 
frightened  children,  believing  their  poor  old  grandmother  had 


MISERY.  420 

actually  been  beaten,  began  crying  piteously,  exclaiming,  "  Don't 
beat  poor  granny,  father !  Pray  don't  flog  granny  !  " 

It  is  wholly  impossible  to  describe  the  fearful  effect  of  these 
nocturnal  horrors,  in  which  were  mingled,  in  one  turmoil  of 
sounds,  the  supplicating  cries  of  the  children,  the  furious  yell- 
ings  of  the  idiot,  and  the  wailing  complaints  of  the  lapidary's 
sick  wife. 

To  poor  Morel  such  scenes  as  this  were  but  too  frequent. 
Still,  upon  the  present  occasion,  his  patience  and  courage  seemed 
utterly  to  forsake  him ;  and,  throwing  down  the  whip  upon  his 
work-table,  he  exclaimed,  in  bitter  despair,  "Oh,  what  a  life! 
what  a  life !  " 

"  Is  it  my  fault  if  my  mother  is  an  idiot  ?  "  asked  Madeleine, 
weeping. 

"  Is  it  mine,  then  ?  "  replied  Morel.  "  All  I  ask  for  is  peace 
and  quiet  enough  to  allow  me  to  work  myself  to  death  for  you 
all.  God  knows,  I  labor  alike  night  and  day!  Yet  I  complain 
not.  And,  as  long  as  my  strength  holds  out,  I  will  exert  myself 
to  the  utmost ;  but  it  is  'quite  impossible  for  me  to  attend  to  my 
business,  and  be  a  once  a  keeper  to  a  mad  woman,  and  a  nurse 
to  sick  people  and  young  children.  And  Heaven  is  unjust  to 
put  it  upon  me — yes,  I  say  unjust!  It  is  too  much  misery  to 
heap  on  one  man,"  added  Morel,  in  a  tone  bordering  on  distrac- 
tion. So  saying,  the  heart-broken  lapidary  threw  himself  on 
his  stool,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  Can  I  help  the  people  at  the  hospital  having  refused  to  re- 
ceive my  mother,  because  she  was  not  raving  mad  ? "  asked 
Madeleine,  in  a  low,  peevish,  and  complaining  voice.  "  What  can 
I  do  to  alter  it  ?  What  is  the  use  of  your  grumbling  to  me  about 
my  mother?  and,  if  you  fret  ever  so  much  about  what  neither 
you  nor  I  can  alter,  what  good  will  that  do?" 

"  None  at  all,"  rejoined  the  artisan,  hastily  brushing  the  large 
bitter  drops  despair  had  driven  to  his  eyes;  "none  whatever — 
you  are  right;  but  when  everything  goes  against  you,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  know  what  to  do  or  say." 

"  Gracious  Father ! "  cried  Madeleine,  "  what  an  agony  of 
thirst  I  am  enduring!  My  lips  are  parched  with  the  fever  which 
is  consuming  me,  and  yet  I  shiver  as  though  death  were  on 
me!" 

"  Wait  one  instant,  and  I  will  give  you  some  drink ! "  So 
saying,  Morel  took  the  pitcher  which  stood  beneath  the  roof,  and, 
after  having  with  difficulty  broken  the  ice  which  covered  the 
water,  he  filled  a  cup  with  the  frozen  liquid,  and  brought  it  to 
the  bedside  of  his  wife,  who  stretched  forth  her  impatient  hands 


4:30  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

to  receive  it ;  but,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  he  said,  "  No, 
no,  I  must  not  let  you  have  it  cold  as  this;  in  your  present  state 
of  fever  it  would  be  dangerous." 

"So  much  the  better  if  it  be  dangerous!  Quick,  quick — 
give  it  me ! "  cried  Madeleine,  with  bitterness ;  "  it  will  the 
sooner  end  my  misery,  and  free  you  from  such  an  incumbrance 
as  I  am:  then  you  will  only  have  to  look  after  mad  folks  and 
young  children — there  will  be  no  sick-nurse  to  take  up  your 
time." 

"  Why  do  you  say  such  hard  words  to  me,  Madeleine  ?  "  asked 
Morel,  mournfully;  "you  know  I  do  not  deserve  them.  Pray 
do  not  add  to  my  vexations,  for  I  have  scarcely  strength  or 
reason  enough  left  to  go  on  with  my -work;  my  head  feels  as 
though  something  were  amiss  with  it,  and  I  fear  much  my  brain 
will  give  way — and  then  what  would  become  of  you  all  ?  'Tis  for 
you  I  speak;  were  there  only  myself,  I  should  trouble  very  little 
about  to-morrow — thank  Heaven,  the  river  flows  for  everyone !  " 

"  Poor  Morel !  "  said  Madeleine,  deeply  affected,  "  I  was  very 
wrong  to  speak  so  angrily  to  you,  and  to  say  I  knew  you  would 
be  glad  to  get  rid  of  me.  Pray  forgive  me,  for  indeed  I  did  not 
mean  any  harm;  for,  after  all,  what  use  am  I  either  to  you  or 
the  children  ?  For  the  last  sixteen  months  I  have  kept  my  bed ! 
Gracious  God !  what  I  do  suffer  with  thirst !  For  pity's  sake, 
husband,  give  me  something  to  moisten  my  burning  lips ! " 

"You  shall  have  it  directly;  I  was  trying  to  warm  the  cup 
between  my  hands." 

"  How  good  you  are !  and  yet  I  could  say  such  wicked  things 
to  you ! " 

"  My  poor  wife,  you  are  ill  and  in  pain,  and  that  makes  you 
impatient;  say  anything  you  like  to  me,  but  pray  never  tell  me 
again  I  wish  to  get  rid  of  you ! " 

"  But  what  good  am  I  to  anyone  ?  what  good  are  our  children  ? 
None  whatever;  on  the  contrary,  they  heap  more  toil  upon  you 
than  you  can  bear." 

"  True ;  yet  you  see  that  my  love  for  them  and  you  has  en- 
dued me  with  strength  and  resolution  to  work  frequently  twenty 
hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  till  my  body  is  bent  and  deformed 
by  such  incessant  labor.  Do  you  believe  for  one  instant  that  I 
would  thus  toil  and  struggle  on  my  own  account  ?  Oh,  no !  life 
has  no  such  charms  for  me;  and  if  I  were  the  only  sufferer,  I 
would  quickly  put  an  end  to  it." 

"  And  so  would  I,"  said  Madeleine.  "  God  knows,  but  for  the 
children  I  should  have  said  to  you,  long  ago,  '  Morel,  we  have 
had  more  than  enough  to  weary  us  of  our  lives ;  there  is  nothing 


MISERY.  431 

left  but  to  finish  our  misery  by  the  help  of  a  pan  of  charcoal ! ' 
But  then  I  recollected  the  poor,  dear,  helpless  children,  and  my 
heart  would  not  let  me  leave  them,  alone  and  unprotected,  to 
starve  by  themselves." 

"  Well,  then,  you  see,  wife,  that  the  children  are,  after  all,  of 
real  good  to  us,  since  they  prevent  us  giving  way  to  despair, 
and  serve  as  a  motive  for  exerting  ourselves,"  replied  Morel, 
with  ready  ingenuity,  yet  perfect  simplicity  of  tone  and  manner. 
"  Now,  then,  take  your  drink,  but  only  swallow  a  little  at  a  time, 
for  it  is  very  cold  still." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Morel ! "  cried  Madeleine,  snatching  the  cup, 
and  drinking  it  eagerly. 

"  Enough !  enough !  no  more !  you  shall  not  have  any  more 
just  now,  Madeleine." 

"  Gracious  Heaven ! "  exclaimed  Madeleine,  giving  back  the 
cup,  "  how  cold  it  seems  now  I  have  swallowed  it — it  has  brought 
back  those  dreadful  shiverings !  " 

"  Alas !  "  ejaculated  Morel,  "  I  told  you  so — ah,  now  you  are 
quite  ill  again  !  " 

"  I  have  not  strength  even  to  tremble — I  seem  as  though  I 
were  covered  over  with  ice." 

Morel  took  off  his  jacket,  and  laid  it  over  his  wife's  feet,  re- 
maining quite  naked  down  to  his  waist — the  unhappy  man  did 
not  possess  a  shirt. 

"  But  you  will  be  frozen  to  death,  Morel !  " 

"  Never  mind  me ;  if  I  find  it  cold  by  and  bye,  I  will  put  my 
jacket  on  for  a  few  minutes." 

"  Poor  fellow !  "  sighed  Madeleine.  "  Ah,  as  you  say,  Heaven 
is  not  just!  What  have  we  done  to  be  so  wretched,  while  so 
many  others " 

"  Everyone  has  their  troubles — some  more,  some  less — the 
great  as  well  as  the  small." 

"  Yes ;  but  great  people  know  nothing  of  the  gnawings  of 
hunger,  or  the  bitter  pinching  of  the  cold.  Why,  when  I  look 
on  those  diamonds,  and  remember  that  the  smallest  amongst 
them  would  place  us  and  the  poor  children  in  ease  and  comfort, 
my  heart  sickens,  and  I  ask  myself  why  it  is  some  should  have 
so  much,  and  others  nothing?  And  what  good  are  these  dia- 
monds, after  all,  to  their  owners?" 

"  Why,  if  we  were  to  go  to  the  question  of  what  half  the 
luxuries  of  life  are  really  good  for,  we  might  go  a  great  way:  for 
instance,  what  is  the  good  of  that  grand  gentleman  Madame 
Pipelet  calls  the  Commandant  having  engaged  and  furnished 
the  first  floor  of  this  house,  when  he  seldom  enters  them  ?  what 


432  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

use  is  it  his  having  there  good  beds,  and  warm  covering  to  them, 
since  he  never  sleeps  in  them  ?  " 

"  Very  true ;  there  is  more  furniture  lying  idle  there  than 
would  supply  two  or  three  poor  families  like  ours.  And  then 
Madame  Pipelet  lights  a  fire  every  day,  to  preserve  the  things 
from  the  damp.  Only  think  of  so  much  comfortable  warmth 
being  lost,  while  we  and  the  children  are  almost  frozen  to  death ! 
But  then,  you  will  say,  we  are  not  articles  of  value;  no,  in- 
deed, we  are  not.  Oh,  these  rich  folks,  what  hard  hearts  they 
have!" 

"  Not  harder  than  other  people's,  Madeleine ;  but  then,  you 
see,  they  do  not  know  what  misery  or  want  are.  They  are  born 
rich  and  happy,  they  live  and  die  so.  How,  then,  do  you  expect 
they  can  ever  think  such  poor  distressed  beings  exist  in  a  world 
which  to  them  is  all  happiness  ?  No !  I  tell  you,  they  have  no 
idea  of  such  things  as  fellow-creatures  toiling  beyond  their 
strength  for  food,  and  perishing  at  last  with  hunger!  How  is 
it  possible  for  them  to  imagine  privations  like  ours  ?  The  greater 
their  hunger,  the  greater  enjoyment  of  their  abundant  meal. 
Is  the  weather  severe,  or  the  cold  intense,  they  call  it  a  fine  frost, 
a  healthful,  bracing  season.  If  they  walk  out,  they  return  to  a 
glowing,  cheerful  fire,  which  the  cold  only  makes  them  relish  the 
more;  so  that  they  can  scarcely  be  expected  to  sympathize  with 
such  as  are  said  to  suffer  from  cold  and  hunger,  when  those  two 
things  rather  add  to  than  diminish  their  pleasure." 

"  Ah !  poor  folks  are  better  than  rich,  since  they  can  feel  for 
each  other,  and  are  always  ready  and  willing  to  assist  each  other, 
as  much  as  lies  in  their  power.  Look  at  that  kind,  good  Made- 
moiselle Eigolette,  who  has  so  often  sat  up  all  night,  either  with 
me  or  the  children,  during  our  illness.  Why,  last  night  she  took 
Jerome  and  Pierre  into  her  room,  to  share  her  supper,  and  it 
was  not  much,  either,  she  had  for  herself — only  a  cup  of  milk, 
and  some  bread ;  at  her  age,  all  young  people  have  good  appetites, 
and  she  must  have  deprived  herself  to  give  to  the  children." 

"  Poor  girl !  she  is  indeed  most  kind — and  why  is  she  so  ?  Be- 
.cause  she  knows  what  poverty  is.  As  I  said  to  you  just  now, 
if  the  rich  only  knew " 

"  And  then  that  nice-looking  lady  who  came,  seeming  so 
frightened  all  the  while,  to  ask  us  if  we  wanted  anything.  Well, 
now,  she  knows  that  we  do  want  everything,  will  she  ever  come 
again,  think  you?" 

"  I  dare  say  she  will ;  for,  spite  of  her  uneasy  and  terrified 
looks,  she  seemed  very  good  and  kind." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  if  a  person  be  but  rich,  they  are  always  right  in 


MISERY.  433 

your  opinion.  One  might  almost  suppose  that  rich  folks  are 
made  of  different  materials  to  poor  creatures  like  us." 

"Stop,  wife!"  said  Morel,  gently;  "you  are  getting  on  too 
fast.  I  did  not  say  that;  on  the  contrary,  I  agree  that  rich 
people  have  as  many  faults  as  poor  ones:  all  I  mean  is,  that, 
unfortunately,  they  are  not  aware  of  the  wretchedness  of  one- 
half  of  the  world.  Agents  in  plenty  are  employed  to  hunt  out 
poor  wretches  who  have  committed  any  crime,  but  there  are  no 
paid  agents  to  find  out  half-starving  families,  and  honest  arti- 
sans, worn-out  with  toil  and  privations,  who,  driven  to  the  last 
extremity  of  distress,  are,  for  want  of  a  little  timely  succor,  led 
into  sore  temptation.  It  is  quite  right  to  punish  evil-doers;  it 
would,  perhaps,  he  better  still  to  prevent  ill-deeds.  A  man  may 
have  striven  hard  to  remain  honest  for  fifty  years;  but  want, 
misery,  and  utter  destitution,  put  bad  thoughts  in  his  head,  and 
one  rascal  more  is  let  loose  on  the  world ;  whilst  there  are  many 

who,  if  they  had  but  known  of  his  distressed  condition 

However,  it  is  no  use  talking  of  that — the  world  is  as  it  is:  I 
am  poor  and  wretched,  and  therefore  I  speak  as  I  do ;  were  I 
rich,  my  talk  would  be  of  fetes,  and  happy  days,  and  worldly 
engagements! And  how  do  you  find  yourself  now,  wife?" 

"  Much  the  same ;  I  seem  to  have  lost  all  feeling  in  my  limbs. 
But  how  you  shiver !  here,  take  your  jacket,  and  pray  put  it 
on.  Blow  out  that  candle,  which  is  burning  uselessly — see,  it 
is  nearly  day !  " 

And,  true  enough,  a  faint,  glimmering  light  began  to  struggle 
through  the  snow  with  which  the  skylight  was  encumbered,  and 
cast  a  dismal  ray  on  the  interior  of  this  deplorable  human  abode, 
rendering  its  squalidness  still  more  apparent;  the  shade  of  night 
tad  at  least  concealed  a  part  of  its  horrors. 

"  I  shall  wait  now  for  the  daylight  before  I  go  back  to  work," 
said  the  lapidary,  seating  himself  beside  hie  wife's  paillasse,  and 
leaning  his  forehead  upon  his  two  hands. 

After  a  short  interval  of  silence,  Madeleine  said, — 

"  When  is  Madame  Mathieu  to  come  for  the  stones  you  are 
at  work  upon  ?  " 

"  This  morning.  I  have  only  the  side  of  one  false  diamond 
to  polish." 

"A  false  diamond!  How  is  that? — you  who  only  make  up 
real  stones,  whatever  the  people  in  the  house  may  believe." 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  But  I  forgot,  you  were  asleep  the  other 
day  when  Madame  Mathieu  came  about  them.  Well,  then,  she 
brought  me  ten  false  diamonds  (Rhine  crystals),  to  cut  exactly 
to  the  same  size  and  form  as  the  like  number  of  real  diamonds 


434  ¥BX  MYSTERIES  OP  PARIS. 

she  also  brought.  There,  those  are  them  mixed  with  the  rubies 
on  my  table.  I  think  I  never  saw  more  splendid  stones,  or  of 
purer  water,  than  those  ten  diamonds,  which  must  at  least  be 
worth  sixty  thousand  francs." 

"  And  why  did  she  wish  them  imitated  ?  " 

"  Because  a  great  lady  to  whom  they  belonged — a  duchess,  I 
think,  she  said — had  given  directions  to  M.  Baudoin,  the  jeweler, 
to  dispose  of  her  set  of  diamonds,  and  to  make  her  one  of  false 
stones  to  replace  it.  Madame  Mathieu,  who  matches  stones  for 
M.  Baudoin,  explained  this  to  me,  when  she  gave  me  the  real 
diamonds,  in  order  that  I  might  be  quite  sure  to  cut  the  false 
ones  to  precisely  the  same  size  and  form.  Madame  Mathieu  gave 
a  similar  job  to  four  other  lapidaries,  for-  there  are  from  forty  to 
fifty  stones  to  cut;  and  I  could  not  do  them  all,  as  they  were 
required  by  this  morning,  because  M.  Baudoin  must  have  time 
to  set  the  false  gems.  Madame  Mathieu  says  that  grand  ladies, 
very  frequently  unknown  to  anybody  but  the  jeweler,  sell  their 
valuable  diamonds  and  replace  them  with  Ehenish  crystals." 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,  the  mock  stones  look  every  bit  as  well 
as  the  real  stones?  Yet  great  ladies,  who  only  use  such  things 
as  ornaments,  would  never  think  of  sacrificing  one  of  their 
diamonds  to  relieve  the  distress  of  such  unfortunate  beings  as 
we  are." 

"  Come,  come,  wife !  be  more  reasonable  than  this ;  sorrow 
makes  you  unjust.  Who  do  you  think  knows  that  such  people 
as  Morel  and  his  family  are  in  existence,  still  less  that  they  are 
in  want  ?  " 

"  Oh,  what  a  man  you  are,  Morel !  I  really  believe,  if  anyone 
were  to  cut  you  in  pieces,  that,  while  they  were  doing  it,  you 
would  try  to  say,  '  Thank  you ! ' >: 

Morel  compassionately  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  And  how  much  will  Madame  Mathieu  owe  you  this  morn- 
ing ?  "  asked  Madeleine. 

"Nothing;  because  you  know  I  have  already  had  an  advance 
of  120  francs." 

"  Nothing !  why,  our  last  sous  went  the  day  before  yesterday. 
We  have  not  a  single  farthing  belonging  to  us ! " 

"  Alas,  no !  "  cried  Morel,  with  a  dejected  air. 

"Well,  then,  what  are  we  to  do?" 

"  I  know  not." 

"  The  baker  refuses  to  let  us  have  anything  more  on  credit — 
will  he?" 

"  No :  and  I  was  obliged  yesterday  to  beg  Madame  Pipelet  to 
lend  me  part  of  a  loaf." 


MISERY.  435 

"  Can  we  borrow  anything  more  of  Mother  Burette  ?  " 

"  She  has  already  every  article  belonging  to  us  in  pledge. 
What  have  we  to  offer  her  to  lend  more  money  on — our  child- 
ren ?  "  asked  Morel,  with  a  smile  of  bitterness. 

"  But  yourself,  my  mother,  and  all  the  children,  had  but  part 
of  a  loaf  among  you  all  yesterday.  You  cannot  go  on  in  this 
way;  you  will  be  starved  to  death.  It  is  all  your  fault  that  we 
are  not  on  the  books  of  the  charitable  institution  this  year." 

"  They  will  not  admit  any  persons  without  they  possess  furni- 
ture, or  some  such  property;  and  you  know  we  have  nothing  in 
the  world.  We  are  looked  upon  as  though  we  lived  in  furnished 
apartments,  and,  consequently,  ineligible.  Just  the  same  if  we 
tried  to  get  into  any  asylum,  the  children  are  required  to  have 
at  least  a  blouse,  while  our  poor  things  have  only  rags.  Then, 
as  to  the  charitable  societies,  one  must  go  backwards  and  for- 
wards twenty  times  before  we  should  obtain  relief;  and  then 
what  would  it  be  ?  Why,  a  loaf  once  a  month,  and  half  a  pound 
of  meat  once  a  fortnight.*  I  should  lose  more  time  than  it 
would  be  worth." 

"  But  still,  what  are  we  to  do? " 

"  Perhaps  the  lady  who  came  yesterday  will  not  forget  us !  " 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  don't  you  think  Madame  Mathieu  would 
lend  us  four  or  five  francs,  just  to  keep  us  from  starving?  You 
have  worked  for  her  upwards  of  ten  years;  and  surely  she  will 
not  see  an  honest  workman  like  you,  burdened  with  a  large  and 
sickly  family,  perish  for  want  of  a  little  assistance  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  it  is  in  her  power  to  aid  us.  She  did  all  in 
her  power  when  she  advanced  me  little  by  little  120  francs. 
That  is  a  large  sum  for  her.  Because  she  buys  diamonds,  and 
has  sometimes  50,000  francs  in  her  reticule,  she  is  not  the  more 
rich  for  that.  If  she  gains  100  francs  a  month,  she  is  well  con- 
tent, for  she  has  heavy  expenses — two  nieces  to  bring  up;  and 
five  francs  is  as  much  to  her  as  it  would  be  to  me.  There  are 
times  when  one  does  not  possess  that  sum,  you  know;  and  being 
already  so  deeply  in  her  debt,  I  could  not  ask  her  to  take  bread 
from  her  own  mouth  and  that  of  her  family  to  give  it  to  me." 

"  This  comes  of  working  for  mere  agents  in  jewelry,  instead 
of  procuring  employment  from  first-hand  master  jewelers. 
They  are  sometimes  less  particular.  But  you  are  such  a  poor 
easy  creature,  you  would  almost  let  anyone  take  the  eyes  out  of 
your  head.  It  is  all  your  fault  that " 

"My  fault!"  exclaimed  the  unhappy  man,  exasperated  by 

*  Such  is  the  ordinary  allowance  made  at  charitable  societies,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  vast  number  of  applicants  for  relief. 


436  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

this  absurd  reproach.  "  Was  it  or  was  it  not  your  mother  who 
occasioned  all  our  misfortunes,  by  compelling  me  to  make  good 
the  price  of  the  diamond  she  lost?  But  for  that  we  should  be 
beforehand  with  the  world;  we  should  receive  the  amount  of 
my  daily  earnings;  we  should  have  the  1100  francs  in  our  pos- 
session we  were  obliged  to  draw  out  of  the  savings'  bank  to  put 
to  the  1300  francs  lent  us  by  M.  Jacques  Ferrand.  May  every 
curse  light  on  him  !  " 

"  And  you  still  persist  in  not  asking  him  to  help  you  ?  Cer- 
tainly he  is  so  stingy,  that  I  dare  say  he  would  do  nothing  for 
you.  But  then  it  is  right  to  try.  You  cannot  know  without 
you  do  try." 

"Ask  him  to  help  me! "  cried  Morel.  "Ask  him!  I  had 
rather  be  burnt  before  a  slow  fire.  Hark  ye,  Madeleine !  Un- 
less you  wish  to  drive  me  mad,  mention  that  man's  name  no 
more  to  me." 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  the  usually  mild,  resigned  expres- 
sion of  the  lapidary's  countenance  was  exchanged  for  a  look  of 
gloomy  energy,  while  a  slight  suffusion  colored  the  ordinarily 
pale  features  of  the  agitated  man,  as,  rising  abruptly  from 
the  pallet  beside  which  he  had  been  sitting,  he  began  to 
pace  the  miserable  apartment  with  hurried  steps;  and,  spite 
of  the  deformed  and  attenuated  appearance  of  poor  Morel, 
his  attitude  and  action  bespoke  the  noblest,  purest  indignation. 

"  I  am  not  ill-disposed  towards  any  man,"  cried  he,  at  length, 
pausing  of  a  sudden ;  "  and  never,  to  my  knowledge,  harmed  a 
human  being.  But,  I  tell  you,  when  I  think  of  this  notary,  I 
wish  him — ah !  I  wish  him — as  much  wretchedness  as  he  has 
wish  him — ah!  I  wish  him — as  much  wretcedness  as  he  has 
caused  me."  Then  pressing  both  hands  to  his  forehead,  he  mur- 
mured, in  a  mournful  tone,  "  Just  God !  what  crime  have  I 
committed  that  a  hard  fate  should  deliver  me  and  mine,  tied 
hand  and  foot,  into  the  power  of  such  a  hypocrite?  Have 
his  riches  been  given  him  only  to  worry,  harass,  and  destroy 
those  his  bad  passions  lead  him  to  persecute,  injure,  and 
corrupt  ?  " 

"  That's  right !  that's  right !  "  said  Madeleine ;  "  go  on  abusing 
him.  You  will  have  done  yourself  a  great  deal  of  good,  shall 
you  not,  when  he  puts  you  in  prison,  as  he  can  do  any  day,  for 
that  promissory  note  of  1300  francs  on  which  he  obtained  judg- 
ment against  you?  He  holds  you  fast  as  a  bird  at  the  end  of 
a  string.  I  hate  this  notary  as  badly  as  you  do ;  but  since  we  are 
so  completely  in  his  power,  why  you  should " 

"Let  him  ruin  and  dishonor  my  child,  I  suppose?"  burst 


MISERY.  437 

from  the  pale  lips  of  the  lapidary,  with  violent  and  impatient 
energy. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Morel,  don't  speak  so  loud ;  the  children 
are  awake,  and  will  hear  you." 

"  Pooh,  pooh !  "  returned  Morel,  with  bitter  irony ;  "  it  will 
serve  as  a  fine  example  for  our  two  little  girls.  It  will  instruct 
them  to  expect  that,  one  of  these  days,  some  villain  or  other  like 
the  notary  may  take  a  fancy  to  them — perhaps  the  same  man; 
and  then,  I  suppose,  you  would  tell  me,  as  now,  to  be  careful 
how  I  offended  him,  since  he  had  me  in  his  power.  You  say,  if  I 
displease  him  he  can  put  me  in  prison.  Now,  tell  the  truth :  you 
advise  me,  then,  to  leave  my  daughter  at  his  mercy,  do  you 
not?" 

And  then,  passing  from  the  extreme  of  rage  at  the  idea  of  all 
the  wickedness  practised  by  the  notary  to  tender  recollections  of 
his  child,  the  unhappy  man  burst  into  a  sort  of  convulsive  weep- 
ing, mingled  with  deep  and  heavy  sobs,  for  his  kindly  nature 
could  not  long  sustain  the  tone  of  sarcastic  indignation  he  had 
assumed. 

"  Oh,  my  children ! "  cried  he,  with  bitter  grief ;  "  my  poor 
children!  My  good,  my  beautiful,  too — too  beautiful  Louise! 
'Tis  from  those  rich  gifts  of  nature  all  our  troubles  proceeded. 
Had  you  been  less  lovely,  that  man  would  never  have  pressed 
his  money  upon  me.  I  am  honest  and  hard-working;. and  if  the 
jeweler  had  given  me  time,  I  should  never  have  been  under  the 
obligation  to  the  old  monster,  of  which  he  avails  himself  to 
seek  to  dishonor  my  child.  I  should  not  then  have  left  her  a 
single  hour  within  his  power.  But  I  dare  not  remove  her — I 
dare  not!  For  am  I  not  at  his  mercy?  Oh,  want!  oh,  misery! 
What  insults  do  they  not  make  us  endure !  " 

"  But  what  can  you  do  ?  "  asked  Madeleine.  "  You  know  he 
threatens  Louise  that  if  she  quits  him  he  will  put  you  in  prison 
directly." 

"  Oh,  yes !  He  dares  address  her  as  though  she  were  the  very 
vilest  of  creatures." 

"  Well,  you  must  not  mind  that ;  for  should  she  leave  the 
notary,  there  is  no  doubt  he  would  instantly  throw  you  into 
prison,  and  then  what  would  become  of  me,  with  these  five  help- 
less creatures  and  my  mother  ?  Suppose  Louise  did  earn  twenty 
francs  a  month  in  another  place,  do  you  think  seven  persons  can 
live  on  that  ?  " 

"  And  so  that  we  may  live,  Louise  is  to  be  disgraced  and  left 
to  ruin  ?  " 

"  You  always  make  things  out  worse  than  they  are.    It  is  true 


438  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

the  notary  makes  offers  of  love  to  Louise;  she  has  told  us  so 
repeatedly.  But  then  you  know  what  a  good  girl  she  is;  she 
would  never  listen  to  him." 

"  She  is  good,  indeed ;  and  so  right-minded,  active,  and  in- 
dustrious !  When,  seeing  how  badly  we  were  off  in  consequence 
of  your  long  illness,  she  insisted  upon  going  to  service  that  she 
might  not  be  a  burden  to  us,  did  I  not  say  what  it  cost  me  to 
part  with  her?  To  think  of  my  sweet  Louise  being  subjected 
to  all  the  harshness  and  humiliation  of  a  servant's  life — she  who 
was  naturally  so  proud  that  we  used  jokingly  (ah,  we  could 
joke  then !)  to  call  her  the  Princess,  because  she  always  said  that, 
by  dint  of  care  and  cleanliness,  she  would  make  our  little  home 
like  a  palace!  Dear  Louise!  It  would  have  been  my  greatest 
happiness  to  have  kept  her  with  me,  though  I  had  worked  all 
day  and  all  night  too.  And  when  I  saw  her  blooming  face,  with 
her  bright  eyes  glancing  at  me  as  she  sat  beside  my  work-table, 
my  labor  always  seemed  lightened ;  and  when  she  sung  like  a 
bird  those  little  songs  she  knew  I  liked  to  hear,  I  used  to  fancy 
myself  the  happiest  father  alive.  Poor  dear  Louise ! — so  hard- 
working, yet  always  so  gay  and  lively!  Why,  she  could  even 
manage  your  mother,  and  make  her  do  whatever  she  wished. 
But  I  defy  anyone  to  resist  her  sweet  words  or  winning  smile. 
And  how  she  watched  over  and  waited  upon  you !  What  pains 
she  would  take  to  try  and  divert  you  from  thinking  of  what  you 
suffered !  And  how  tenderly  she  looked  after  her  little  brothers 
and  sisters,  finding  time  for  everything!  Ah,  with  our  Louise 
all  our  joy  and  happiness — all — all — left  us !  " 

"  Don't  go  on  so,  Morel !  Don't  remind  me  of  all  these  things, 
or  you  will  break  my  heart,"  cried  Madeleine,  weeping  bitterly. 

"  And  then  when  I  think  that,  perhaps,  that  old  monster 

Do  you  know,  when  that  idea  flashes  across  my  brain,  my  senses 
seem  disturbed ;  and  I  have  but  one  thought,  that  of  first  killing 
him  and  then  killing  myself  ?  " 

"  What  would  become  of  all  of  us  if  you  were  to  do  so  ?  Be- 
sides, I  tell  you  again,  you  make  things  worse  than  they  really 
are.  I  dare  say  the  notary  was  only  joking  with  Louise.  He  is 
such  a  pious  man,  and  goes  so  regularly  to  mass  every  Sunday, 
and  only  keeps  company  with  priests  folks  say.  Why,  many 
people  think  that  he  is  safer  to  place  money  with  than  the  bank 
itself." 

"Well,  and  what  does  all  that  prove?  Merely  that  he  is  a 
rich  hypocrite,  instead  of  a  poor  one.  I  know  well  enough  what 
a  good  girl  Louise  is.  But  then  she  loves  us  so  tenderly,  that 
it  breaks  her  heart  to  see  the  want  and  wretchedness  we  are  in. 


MISERY.  439 

She  knows  well  enough  that  if  anything  were  to  happen  to  me 
you  would  all  perish  with  hunger ;  and  by  threatening  to  put  me 
into  prison  he  might  work  on  the  dear  child's  mind — like  a 

villain  as  he  is — and  persuade  her,  on  our  account Oh  God, 

my  brain  burns !  I  feel  as  though  I  were  going  mad !  " 

"  But,  Morel,  if  ever  that  were  the  case,  the  notary  would  be 
sure  to  make  her  a  great  number  of  fine  presents  or  money ;  and, 
I  am  sure,  she  would  not  have  kept  them  all  to  herself.  She 
would  certainly  have  brought  part  to  us." 

"  Silence,  woman !  Let  me  hear  no  more  such  words  escape 
your  lips.  Louise  touch  the  wages  of  infamy!  My  good,  my 
virtuous  girl,  accept  such  foul  gifts  !  Oh,  wife !  " 

"  Not  for  herself,  certainly.  But,  to  bring  to  us,  perhaps  she 
W0uld " 

"Madeleine,"  exclaimed  Morel,  excited  almost  to  frenzy, 
"  again,  I  say,  let  me  not  hear  such  language  from  your  lips ; 
you  make  me  shudder.  Heaven  only  knows  what  you  and  the 
children  also  would  become  were  I  taken  away,  if  such  are  your 
principles." 

"Why,  what  harm  did  I  say?" 

"  Oh,  none !  " 

"  Then  what  makes  you  uneasy  about  Louise  ?  " 

The  lapidary  impatiently  interrupted  his  wife  by  saying, — 

"  Because  I  have  noticed  for  the  last  three  months  that,  when- 
ever Louise  comes  to  see  us,  she  seems  embarrassed,  and  even 
confused.  When  I  take  her  in  my  arms  and  embrace  her,  as  I 
have  been  used  to  do  from  her  birth,  she  blushes." 

"  Ah,  that  is  with  delight  at  seeing  you,  or  from  shame.  She 
seems  sadder  and  more  dejected,  too,  each  visit  she  pays  us." 

"  Because  she  finds  our  misery  constantly  increasing.  Be- 
sides, when  I  spoke  to  her  concerning  the  notary,  she  told  me  he 
had  quite  ceased  his  threats  of  putting  you  in  prison." 

"  But  did  she  tell  you  the  price  she  has  paid  to  induce  him  to 
lay  aside  his  threats !  She  did  not  tell  you  that,  I  dare  say — did 
she?  Ah,  a  father's  eye  is  not  to  be  deceived;  and  her  blushes 
and  embarrassments  when  giving  me  her  usual  kiss  make  me 
dread  I  know  not  what !  Why,  would  it  not  be  an  atrocious 
thing  to  say  to  a  poor  girl,  whose  bread  depended  on  her  em- 
ployer's word,  '  Either  sacrifice  your  virtuous  principles,  and 
become  what  I  would  have  you,  or  quit  my  house  ?  And  if  any- 
one should  inquire  of  me  respecting  the  character  you  have  with 
me,  I  shall  speak  of  you  in  such  terms  that  no  one  will  take 
you  into  their  service.'  Well,  then,  how  much  worse  is  it  to 
frighten  a  fond  and  affectionate  child  into  surrendering  her  inno- 


440  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

cence,  by  threatening  to  put  her  father  into  prison  if  she  re- 
fused, when  the  brute  knows  that  upon  the  labor  of  that  father 
a  whole  family  depends !  Surely  the  earth  contains  nothing  more 
infamous,  more  fiendlike  than  such  conduct." 

"  Ah  !  "  replied  Madeleine ;  "  and  then  only  to  think  that  with 
the  value  of  one,  only  one  of  those  diamonds  now  lying  on  your 
table,  we  might  pay  the  notary  all  we  owe  him,  and  so  take 
Louise  out  of  his  power  and  keep  her  at  home  with  us!  Don't 
you  see,  husband  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  use  of  your  repeating  the  same  thing  over  and 
over  again?  You  might  just  as  well  tell  me  that  if  I  were  rich 
1  should  not  be  poor ! "  answered  Morel,  with  sorrowful  im- 
patience. For  such  was  the  innate  and  almost  constitutional 
honesty  of  this  man,  that  it  never  once  occurred  that  his  weak- 
minded  partner,  bowed  down  and  irritated  by  long  suffering  and 
want,  could  ever  have  conceived  the  idea  of  tempting  him  to  a 
dishonorable  appropriation  of  that  which  belonged  to  another. 

With  a  heavy  sigh,  the  unfortunate  man  resigned  himself  to 
his  hard  fate.  "  Thrice  happy  those  parents  who  can  retain  their 
innocent  children  beneath  the  paternal  roof,  and  defend  them 
from  the  thousand  snares  laid  to  entrap  their  unsuspecting 
youth !  But  who  is  there  to  watch  over  the  safety  of  the  poor 
girl  condemned  at  an  early  age  to  seek  employment  from  home? 
Alas,  no  one!  Directly  she  is  capable  of  adding  her  mite  to  the 
family  earnings,  she  leaves  her  dwelling  at  an  early  hour,  and 
repairs  to  the  manufactory  where  she  may  happen  to  be  en- 
gaged. Meanwhile,  both  father  and  mother  are  too  busily  em- 
ployed to  have  leisure  to  attend  to  their  daughter's  comings  or 
goings.  '  Our  time  is  our  stock  in  trade/  cry  they,  '  and  bread 
is  too  dear  to  enable  us  to  lay  aside  our  work  while  we  look  after 
our  children ! '  And  then  there  is  an  outcry  raised  as  to  the 
quantity  of  depraved  females  constantly  to  be  met  with,  and  of 
the  impropriety  of  conduct  among  those  of  the  lower  orders; 
wholly  forgetting  that  the  parents  have  neither  the  means  of 
keeping  them  at  home,  nor  of  watching  over  their  morals  when 
away  from  them." 

Thus  mentally  moralized  Morel.  Then,  speaking  aloud,  he 
added, — 

"  After  all,  our  greatest  privation  is  when  forced  to  quit  our 
parents,  wives,  or  children.  It  is  to  the  poor  that  family  affec- 
tion is  most  comforting  and  beneficial.  Yet,  directly  our  chil- 
dren grow  up,  and  are  capable  of  becoming  our  dearest  com- 
panions, we  are  forced  to  part  with  them/' 

At  this  moment  someone  knocked  loudly  at  the  door. 


JUDGMENT  AND  EXECUTION.  441 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

JUDGMENT  AND  EXECUTION. 

THE  lapidary,  much  astonished,  rose  and  opened  the  door. 
Two  men  entered  the  garret.  One,  tall,  lanky,  with  an  ill- 
favored  and  pimply  face,  shaded  by  thick  grizzly  whiskers,  held 
in  his  hand  a  thick  cane,  loaded  at  the  head :  he  wore  a  battered 
hat,  and  a  long-tailed  and  bespattered  green  coat,  buttoned  up 
close  to  his  throat.  Above  the  threadbare  velvet  collar  was 
displayed  his  long  neck,  red  and  bald  like  that  of  a  vulture.  This 
man's  name  was  Malicorne.  The  other  was  a  shorter  man,  with 
a  look  as  low-lived,  and  red,  fat,  puffed  features,  dressed  with  a 
great  effort  at  ridiculous  splendor.  Shiny  buttons  were  in  the 
folds  of  the  front  of  his  shirt,  whose  cleanliness  was  most  sus- 
picious, and  a  long  chain  of  mosaic  gold  serpentined  down  a 
faded  plaid  waistcoat,  which  was  seen  beneath  his  seedy  Ches- 
terfield, of  a  yellowish  gray  color.  This  gentleman's  name  was 
Bourdin. 

"How  poverty-stricken  this  hole  smells !"  said  Malicorne, 
pausing  on  the  threshold. 

"  Why,  it  does  not  scent  of  lavender-water !  Confound  it,  but 
we  have  a  lowish  customer  to  deal  with ! "  responded  Bourdin, 
with  a  gesture  of  disgust  and  contempt;  and  then  advanced 
towards  the  artisan,  who  was  looking  at  him  with  as  much  sur- 
prise as  indignation. 

Through  the  door,  left  a  little  ajar,  might  be  seen  the  villain- 
ous, watchful,  and  cunning  face  of  the  young  scamp  Tortillard, 
who,  having  followed  these  strangers  unknown  to  them,  was 
sneaking  after,  spying,  and  listening  to  them. 

"What  do  you  want?"  inquired  the  lapidary  abruptly,  dis- 
gusted at  the  coarseness  of  these  fellows. 

"  Jerome  Morel  ?  "  said  Bourdin. 

"  I  am  he !  " 

"  Working  lapidary  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You're  quite  sure  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure.  But  you  are  troublesome,  so  tell  me  at  once  your 
business,  or  leave  the  room." 

"  Eeally  your  politeness  is  remarkable !  much  obliged !  I  say, 
Malicorne,"  said  the  man,  turning  to  his  comrade,  "  there's  not 


442  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

eo  much  fat  to  cut  at  here,  as  there  was  at  that  'ere  Viscount  de 
Saint-Remy's." 

"  I  believe  you ;  but,  when  there  is  fat,  why  the  door's  kept 
shut  in  your  face,  as  we  found  in  the  Rue  de  Chaillot.  The 
bird  had  hopped  the  twig,  and  precious  quick,  too!  whilst  such 
vermin  as  these  hold  on  to  their  cribs  like  a  snail  to  his  shell." 

"  I  believe  you ;  well,  the  stone  jug  just  suits  such  indi- 
viduals." 

"  The  sufferer  (creditor)  must  he  a  good  fellow,  for  it  will 
cost  him  more  than  its  worth :  but  that's  his  lookout." 

"  If,"  said  Morel,  angrily,  "  you  were  not  drunk,  as  you  seem 
to  be,  I  should  be  angry  with  you.  Leave  this  apartment  in- 
stantly ! " 

"  Ha !  ha !  he's  a  fine  fellow  with  his  elegant  curve,"  said 
Bourdin,  making  an  insulting  allusion  to  the  contorted  figure  of 
the  poor  lapidary.  "  I  say,  Malicorne,  he  has  cheek  enough  to 
call  this  an  apartment,  a  hole  in  which  I  would  not  put  my  dog/' 

"  Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !  "  exclaimed  Madeleine,  who  had  been  so 
frightened  that  she  could  not  say  a  word  before.  "  Call  for  as- 
sistance, perhaps  they  are  rogues.  Take  care  of  your  dia- 
monds ! " 

And,  seeing  these  two  ill-looking  strangers  come  closer  to  his 
working-bench,  on  which  his  precious  stones  were  still  lying, 
Morel,  fearful  of  some  evil  intentions,  ran  towards  the  table,  and 
covered  the  jewels  with  his  two  hands. 

Tortillard,  still  on  the  watch,  caught  at  Madeleine's  words, 
observed  the  movement  of  the  artisan,  and  said  to  himself, — 

"  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  so  they  said  he  was  a  lapidary  of  sham  stones ; 
if  they  were  mock  he  would  not  be  afraid  of  being  robbed :  this  is 
a  good  thing  to  know.  So  Mother  Mathieu,  who  comes  here  so 
often,  is  a  matcher  of  real  stones  after  all,  and  has  real  diamonds 
in  her  basket :  this  is  a  good  thing  to  know,  and  I'll  tell  the 
Chouette,"  added  Bras  Rouge's  brat. 

"  If  you  do  not  leave  this  room,  I  will  call  in  the  guard,"  said 
Morel. 

The  children,  alarmed  at  this  scene,  began  to  cry,  and  the 
idiotic  mother  sat  up  in  her  bed. 

"If  anyone  has  a  right  to  call  for  the  guard,  it  is  we,  you 
Mister  Twistabout,"  said  Bourdin. 

"  And  the  guard  would  lend  us  a  hand  to  carry  you  off  to  jail 
if  you  resist,"  added  Malicorne.  "  We  have  not  the  magistrate 
with  us,  it  is  true,  but,  if  you  have  any  wish  for  his  company, 
we'll  find  you  one,  just  out  of  bed,  hot  and  heavy ;  Bourdin  will 
go  and  fetch  him." 


JUDGMENT  AND  EXECUTION.  443 

"  To  prison !  me  ?  "  exclaimed  Morel,  struck  with  dismay. 

"  Yes,  to  Clichy." 

"  To  Clichy  ?  "  repeated  the  artisan,  with  an  air  of  despair. 

"  It  seems  a  hardish  pill,"  said  Malicorne. 

"  Well,  then,  to  the  Debtors'  Jail,  if  you  like  that  better,"  said 
Bourdin. 

«  YOU — what — indeed — why — the  notary — ah,  mon  Dieuf " 

And  the  workman,  pale  as  death,  fell  on  his  stool,  unable  to 
add  another  word. 

"We  are  bound  bailiffs,  come  to  lay  hold  of  you;  now,  are 
you  fly?" 

"  Morel,  it  is  the  note  of  Louise's  master !  we  are  undone ! " 
exclaimed  Madeleine,  in  a  tone  of  agony. 

"  Hear  the  judgment,"  said  Malicorne,  taking  from  his  dirty 
and  crammed  pocket-book  a  stamped  writ. 

After  having  skimmed  over,  according  to  custom,  a  part  of 
this  document  in  an  unintelligible  tone,  he  distinctly  articulated 
the  last  words,  which  were,  unfortunately,  but  too  important  to 
the  artisan : — 

"'Judgment  finally  given.  The  Tribunal  condemns  Jerome 
Morel  to  pay  to  Pierre  Petit-Jean,  merchant,  *  by  every  avail- 
able means,  even  to  the  arrest  of  body,  the  sum  of  one  thousand 
three  hundred  francs,  with  interest  from  the  day  of  protest,  and 
to  pay  all  other  and  extra  costs.  Given  and  judged  at  Paris, 
thirteenth  September,  etc.,  etc' " 

"  And  Louise !  Louise !  "  cried  Morel,  almost  distracted  in  his 
brain,  and  apparently  unheeding  the  long  preamble  which  had 
just  been  read.  "  Where  is  Louise,  then,  for,  doubtless,  she  has 
quitted  the  notary,  since  he  sends  me  to  prison  ?  My  child !  my 
Louise !  what  has  become  of  you  ?  " 

"Who  the  devil  is  Louise?"  asked  Bourdin. 

"Let  him  alone!"  replied  Malicorne,  brutally;  "don't  you 
see  the  respectable  old  twaddler  is  not  right  in  his  nonsense- 
box?"  Then,  approaching  Morel,  he  added,  "I  say,  my  fine 
fellow,  right  about  file !  march  on !  let  us  get  out  of  here,  will 
you,  and  have  a  little  fresh  air?  you  stink  enough  to  poison  a  cat 
in  this  here  hole !  " 

"  Morel !  "  shrieked  Madeleine,  wildly,  "  don't  go !  kill  those 
wretches !  oh,  you  coward  not  to  knock  them  down !  What !  are 
you  going  to  let  them  take  you  away?  are  you  going  to  abandon 
us  all?" 

*  The  cunning  notary,  unable  to  prosecute  in  his  own  name,  had  made 
the  unfortunate  Morel  give  a  blank  acceptance,  and  had  filled  up  the  note 
of  hand  with  the  name  of  a  third  party. 


444  TUE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  Pray  don't  put  yourself  out  of  the  way,  ma'am,"  said  Bour- 
din,  with  an  ironical  grin.  "  I've  only  just  got  to  remark,  that 
if  your  good  man  lays  his  little  finger  on  me,  why,  I'll  make  him 
remember  it,"  continued  he,  swinging  his  loaded  stick  round 
and  round. 

Entirely  occupied  with  thoughts  of  Louise,  Morel  scarcely 
heard  a  word  of  what  was  passing.  All  at  once  an  expression  of 
bitter  satisfaction  passed  over  his  countenance,  as  he  said, — 

"  Louise  has  doubtless  left  the  notary's  house ;  now  I  shall  go 
to  prison  willingly."  Then,  casting  a  troubled  look  around  him, 
he  exclaimed,  "  But  my  wife !  her  mother !  the  children !  who 
will  provide  for  them  ?  No  one  will  trust  me  with  stones  to  work 
at  in  prison,  for  it  will  be  supposed  my  bad  conduct  has  sent  me 
there.  Does  this  hard-hearted  notary  wish  the  destruction  of 
myself  and  all  my  family  also?" 

"  Once,  twice,  old  chap,"  said  Bourdin,  "  will  you  stop  your 
gammon?  you  are  enough  to  bore  a  man  to  death.  Come,  put 
on  your  things,  and  let  us  be  off." 

"  Good  gentlemen,  kind  gentlemen,"  cried  Madeleine,  from 
her  sick  bed,  "  pray  forgive  what  I  said  just  now !  Surely  you 
will  not  be  so  cruel  as  to  take  my  husband  away;  what  will  be- 
come of  me,  and  my  five  poor  children,  and  my  old  motlrer,  who 
is  an  idiot? — there  she  lies,  you  see  her,  poor  old  creature! 
huddled  up  on  her  mattress ;  she  is  quite  out  of  her  senses,  my 
good  gentlemen ;  she  is,  indeed,  quite  mad  !  " 

"  La !  what,  that  old  bald-headed  thing  a  woman  ?  well,  hang 
me  if  that  ain't  enough  to  astonish  a  man ! " 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  it  isn't,  then !  "  cried  the  other  bailiff,  burst- 
ing into  a  horselaugh ;  "  why,  I  took  it  for  something  tied  up  in 
an  old  sack.  Look !  her  old  head  is  shaved  quite  close ;  it  seems 
as  though  she  had  got  a  white  skull-cap  on." 

"  Go,  children,  and  kneel  down,  and  beg  of  these  good  gentle- 
men not  to  take  away  your  poor  father,  our  only  support,"  said 
Madeleine,  anxious  by  a  last  effort  to  touch  the  hearts  of  the 
bailiffs.  But,  spite  of  their  mother's  orders,  the  terrified  chil- 
dren remained  weeping  on  their  miserable  mattress. 

At  the  unusual  noise  which  prevailed,  added  to  the 'aspect  of 
two  strange  men  in  the  room,  the  poor  idiot  turned  herself  to- 
wards the  wall,  as  though  striving  to  hide  from  them,  uttering 
all  the  time  the  most  discordant  cries  and  moans.  Morel,  mean- 
while, appeared  unconscious  of  all  that  was  going  on :  this  last 
stroke  of  Fate  had  been  so  frightful  and  unexpected,  and  the 
consequences  of  his  arrest  were  so  dreadful,  that  his  niind  seemed 
almost  unequal  to  understanding  its  reality.  .Worn-out  by  all 


"HEAR    THE    JUDGMENT,'    SAID    MALICORNE 


JUDGMENT  AND  EXECUTION.  445 

manner  of  privations  and  exhausted  by  over-toil,  his  strength 
utterly  forsook  him,  and  he  remained  seated  on  his  stool,  pale, 
haggard,  and  as  though  incapable  of  speech  or  motion,  his  head 
drooping  on  his  breast,  and  his  arms  hanging  listlessly  by  his 
side. 

"Deuce  take  me,"  cried  Malicorne,  "if  that  old  patterer  is 
not  going  fast  asleep !  Why,  I  say,  my  chap,  you  seem  to  think 
nothing  of  keeping  gen'lmen  like  us  waiting;  just  remember, 
will  you,  our  time  is  precious!  you  know  this  is  not  exactly 
a  party  of  pleasure,  so  march,  or  I  shall  be  obliged  to  make 
you." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  the  man  grasped  the  artisan 
by  the  shoulder,  and  shook  him  roughly;  which  so  alarmed  the 
children,  that,  unable  to  restrain  their  terror,  the  three  little 
boys  emerged  from  their  paillasse,  and,  half  naked  as  they  were, 
came  in  an  agony  of  tears  to  throw  themselves  at  the  feet  of  the 
bailiffs,  holding  up  their  clasped  hands,  and  crying,  in  tones  of 
touching  earnestness, — 

"  Pray,  pray  don't  hurt  our  dear  father !  " 

At  the  sight  of  these  poor,  shivering,  half-clad  infants,  weep- 
ing with  affright,  and  trembling  with  cold,  Bourdin,  spite  of  his 
natural  callousness  and  long  acquaintance  with  scenes  of  this 
sort,  could  not  avoid  a  feeling,  almost  resembling  compassion, 
from  stealing  over  him,  while  his  pitiless  companion,  brutally 
disengaging  himself  from  the  grasp  of  the  small,  weak  creatures 
who  were  clinging  to  him,  exclaimed, — 

"  Hands  off,  you  young  ragamuffins !  A  devilish  fine  trade 
ours  would  be,  if  we  were  to  allow  ourselves  to  be  mauled  about 
by  a  set  of  beggars'  brats  like  you ! " 

As  though  the  scene  were  not  sufficiently  distressing,  a  fearful 
addition  was  made  to  its  horrors — the  eldest  of  the  little  girls, 
who  had  remained  in  the  paillasse  with  her  sick  sister,  suddenly 
exclaimed, — 

"  Mother !  mother !  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  Adele 
— she  is  so  cold,  and  her  eyes  are  fixed  on  my  face,  and  yet  she 
does  not  breathe." 

The  poor  little  child,  whose  consumptive  appearance  we  have 
before  noticed,  had  expired  gently,  and  without  a  sigh,  her  looks 
fixed  earnestly  on  the  sister  she  so  tenderly  loved. 

No  language  can  describe  the  cry  which  burst  from  the  lips  of 
the  lapidary's  wife  at  these  words,  which  at  once  revealed  the 
dreadful  truth;  it  was  one  of  those  wild,  despairing,  convulsive 
shrieks,  which  seem  to  sever  the  very  heart-strings  of  a  mother. 

"  My  poor  little  sister  looks  as  though  she  were  dead ! "  con- 


446  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

tinned  the  child ;  "  she  frightens  me  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  me, 
and  her  face  so  cold !  " 

Saying  which,  in  an  agony  of  terror  she  leaped  from  beside 
the  corpse  of  the  infant,  and  ran  to  shelter  herself  in  her 
mother's  arms,  while  the  distracted  parent,  forgetting  that  her 
almost  paralyzed  limbs  were  incapable  of  supporting  her,  made 
a  violent  effort  to  rise  and  go  to  the  assistance  of  her  child, 
whom  she  could  not  believe  was  actually  past  recovery;  but  her 
strength  failed  her,  and  with  a  deep  sigh  of  despair  she  sunk 
upon  the  floor.  That  cry  found  an  echo  in  the  heart  of  Morel, 
and  roused  him  from  his  stupor:  he  sprung  with  one  bound  to 
the  paillasse,  and  withdrew  from  it  the  stiffened  form  of  an 
infant  of  four  years  old,  dead  and  cold-.  Want  and  misery  had 
accelerated  its  end,  although  its  complaint,  which  had  originated 
in  the  positive  want  of  common  necessaries,  was  beyond  the 
reach  of  any  human  aid  to  remove:  its  poor  little  limbs  were 
already  rigid  with  death.  Morel,  whose  very  hair  seemed  to 
stand  on  end  with  despair  and  terror,  stood  holding  his  dead 
child  in  his  arms,  motionlessly  contemplating  its  thin  features 
with  a  fixed  bloodshot  gaze,  though  no  tear  moistened  his  dry, 
burning  eyeballs. 

"  Morel !  Morel !  give  Adele  to  me ! "  cried  the  unhappy 
mother,  extending  her  arms  towards  him ;  "  she  is  not  dead — 
it  is  not  possible !  Let  me  have  her,  and  I  shall  be  able  to 
warm  her  in  my  arms." 

The  curiosity  of  the  idiot  was  excited  by  observing  the 
pertinacity  with  which  the  bailiffs  kept  close  to  the  lapidary, 
who  would  not  part  with  the  body  of  his  child.  She  ceased  her 
yells  and  cries,  and,  rising  from  her  mattress,  approached  gently, 
and  protruded  her  hideous,  senseless  countenance  over  Morel's 
shoulder,  staring  in  vacant  wonder  at  the  pale  corpse  of  her 
grandchild,  the  features  of  the  idiot  retaining  their  usual  ex- 
pression of  stupid  sullenness.  At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes  she 
uttered  a  sort  of  horrible  yawning  noise,  almost  resembling  the 
roar  of  a  famished  animal ;  then,  hurrying  back  to  her  mattress, 
she  threw  herself  upon  it,  exclaiming, — 

"  Hungry !  hungry ! !  hungry ! ! !  " 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  poor,  half-crazed  artisan,  with 
haggard  looks,  "  you  see  all  that  is  left  me  of  my  poor  child,  my 
Adele — we  called  her  Adele,  she  was  so  pretty  she  deserved  a 
pretty  name;  and  she  was  just  four  years  old  last  night.  Ay, 
and  this  morning  even  I  kissed  her ;  and  she  put  her  little  arms 
about  my  neck,  and  embraced  me — oh,  so  fondly!  And  now, 
you  see,  gentlemen,  perhaps  you  will  tell  me  there  is  one  mouth 


JUDGMENT  AND  EXECUTION.  447 

less  to  feed,  and  that  I  am  lucky  to  get  rid  of  one — you  think 
so,  don't  you?" 

The  unfortunate  man's  reason  was  fast  giving  way  under 
the  many  shocks  he  had  received. 

"  Morel,"  cried  Madeleine,  "  give  me  my  child !  I  will  have 
her!" 

"To  be  sure,"  replied  the  lapidary;  "that  is  only  fair. 
Everybody  ought  to  secure  their  own  happiness!"  So  saying, 
he  laid  the  child  in  its  mother's  arms,  and  uttering  a  groan, 
such  as  comes  only  from  a  breaking  heart,  he  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands;  while  Madeleine,  almost  as  frenzied  as  her  hus- 
band, placed  the  body  of  her  child  amid  the  straw  of  her 
wretched  bed,  watching  it  with  frantic  jealousy,  while  the 
other  children,  kneeling  around  her,  filled  the  air  with  their 
wailings. 

The  bailiffs,  who  had  experienced  a  temporary  feeling  of 
compassion  at  the  death  of  the  child,  soon  fell  back  into  their 
accustomed  brutality. 

"  I  say,  friend,"  said  Malicorne  to  the  lapidary,  "  your  child 
is  dead,  and  there's  an  end  of  it!  I  dare  say  you  think  it  a 
misfortune;  but  then,  you  see,  we  are  all  mortal,  and  neither 
we  nor  you  can  bring  it  back  to  life.  So  come  along  with  us; 
for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  we're  upon  the  scent  of  a  spicy  one 
we  must  nab  to-day.  So  don't  delay  us,  that's  a  trump !  " 

But  Morel  heard  not  a  word  he  said.  Entirely  preoccupied 
with  his  own  sad  thoughts,  the  bewildered  man  kept  up  a  kind 
of  wandering  delivery  of  his  own  afflicting  ideas. 

"  My  poor  Adele !  "  murmured  he ;  "  we  must  now  see  about 
laying  you  in  the  grave,  and  watching  by  her  little  corpse  till 
the  people  come  to  carry  it  to  its  last  home — to  lay  it  in  the 
ground.  But  how  are  we  to  do  that  without  a  coffin — and  where 
shall  we  get  one?  Who  will  give  me  credit  for  one?  Oh,  a 
very  small  coffin  will  do — only  for  a  little  creature  of  four 
years  of  age !  And  we  shall  want  no  bearers !  Oh  no,  I  can 
carry  it  under  my  arm.  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  "  added  he,  with  a  burst 
of  frightful  mirth,  "  what  a  good  thing  it  is  she  did  not  live  to 
be  as  old  as  Louise !  I  never  could  have  persuaded  anybody 
to  trust  me  for  a  coffin  large  enough  for  a  girl  of  eighteen  years 
of  age." 

"  I  say,  just  look  at  that  chap ! "  said  Bourdin  to  Malicorne. 
"  I'll  be  dashed  if  I  don't  think  as  he's  a-going  mad,  like  the 
old  woman  there!  Only  see  how  he  rolls  his  eyes  about — 
enough  to  frighten  one!  Come,  I  say,  let's  make  haste  and  be 
off.  Only  hark  how  that  idiot  creature  is  a-roaring  for  some- 


448  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

thing  to  eat  !  Well,  they  are  rum  customers,  from  beginning  to 
end  !  " 

"  We  must  get  done  with  them  as  soon  as  we  can.  Although 
the  law  only  allows  us  76  francs,  75  centiemes,  for  arresting 
this  beggar,  yet,  in  justice  to  ourselves,  we  must  swell  the  costs 
to  240  or  250  francs.  You  know  the  sufferer  (the  creditor) 
pays  us  !  " 

"  You  mean,  advances  the  cash.  Old  Gaffer  there  will  have 
to  pay  the  piper,  since  he  must  dance  to  the  music." 

"  Well,  by  the  time  he  has  paid  his  creditor  two  thousand 
five  hundred  francs  for  debt,  interest,  and  expenses,  etc.,  he'll 
find  it  pretty  warm  work." 

"  A  devilish  sight  more  than  we  do  our  job  up  here  !  I'm 
a'most  frost-bitten  !  "  cried  the  bailiff,  blowing  the  ends  of  his 
fingers.  "  Come,  old  fellow,  make  haste,  will  you  !  Just  look 
sharp  !  you  can  snivel,  you  know,  as  we  go  along.  Why,  how 
the  devil  can  we  help  it,  if  your  brat  has  kicked  the  bucket?  " 

"  These  beggars  always  have  such  a  lot  of  children,  if  they 
have  nothing  else  !  " 

"  Yes,  so  they  have,"  responded  Malicorne.  Then,  slapping 
Morel  on  the  shoulder,  he  called  out  in  a  loud  voice,  "  I  tell 
you  what  it  is,  my  friend,  we're  not  going  to  be  kept  dawdling 
here  all  day  —  our  time  is  precious.  So  either  out  with  the 
stumpy,  or  march  off  to  prison,  without  any  more  bother  !  " 

"  Prison  !  "  exclaimed  a  clear  youthful  voice  :  "  take  M.  Morel 
to  prison  !  "  and  a  bright,  beaming  face  appeared  at  the  door.  ' 

"Ah,  Mademoiselle  Kigolette,"  cried  the  weeping  children, 
as  they  recognized  the  happy,  healthful  countenance  of  their 
young  protectress  and  friend,  "  these  wicked  men  are  going  to 
take  our  poor  father  away,  and  put  him  in  prison!  and  sister 
Adele  is  just  dead  !  " 

"  Dead  !  "  cried  the  kind-hearted  girl,  her  dark  eyes  filling 
with  compassionating  tears:  "poor  little  thing!  But  it  cannot 
be  true  that  your  father  is  in  danger  of  a  prison  ;  "  and,  al- 
most stupefied  with  surprise,  she  gazed  alternately  from  the 
children  to  Morel,  and  from  him  to  the  bailiffs. 

"  I  say,  my  girl,"  said  Bourdin,  approaching  Eigolette,  "  as 
you  do  seem  to  have  the  use  of  your  senses,  just  make  this  good 
man  hear  reason,  will  you?  His  child  has  just  died.  Well, 
that  can't  be  helped  now;  but,  you  see,  he  is  a-keeping  of  us, 
because  we're  a-waiting  to  take  him  to  the  debtors'  prison, 
being  sheriffs'  officers,  duly  sworn  in  and  appointed.  Tell  him 


so 


" 


"  Then  it  is  true  !  "  exclaimed  the  feeling  girl. 


JUDGMENT  AND  EXECUTION.  449 

"True?  I  should  say  it  was,  and  no  mistake!  Now,  don't 
you  see,  while  the  mother  is  busy  with  the  dead  baby  (and, 
bless  you !  she's  got  it  there,  hugging  it  up  in  bed,  and  won't 
part  with  it!),  she  won't  notice  us?  So  I  want  the  father  to 
be  off  while  she  isn't  thinking  nothing  about  it ! " 

"  Good  God !  good  God ! "  replied  Rigolette,  in  deep  distress, 
"what  is  to  be  done?" 

"  Done  ?  why,  pay  the  money,  or  go  to  prison !  There  is 
nothing  between  them  two  ways.  If  you  happen  to  have  two 
or  three  thousand  francs  by  you  you  can  oblige  him  with,  why, 
shell  out,  and  we'll  be  off,  and  glad  enough  to  be  gone ! " 

"  How  can  you,"  cried  Rigolette,  "  be  so  barbarous  as  to  make 
a  jest  of  such  distress  as  this  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,"  rejoined  the  other  man,  "  all  joking  apart,  if 
you  really  do  wish  to  be  useful,  try  to  prevent  the  woman  from 
seeing  us  take  her  husband  away.  You  will  spare  them  both 
a  very  disagreeable  ten  minutes ! " 

Coarse  as  was  this  counsel,  it  was  not  destitute  of  good  sense ; 
and  Rigolette,  feeling  she  could  do  nothing  else,  approached 
the  bedside  of  Madeleine,  who,  distracted  by  her  grief,  appeared 
unconscious  of  the  presence  of  Rigolette,  as,  gathering  the 
children  together,  she  knelt  with  them  beside  their  afflicted 
mother. 

Meanwhile  Morel,  upon  recovering  from  his  temporary  wild- 
ness,  had  sunk  into  a  state  of  deep  and  bitter  reflections  upon 
his  present  position,  which,  now  that  his  mind  saw  things 
through  a  calmer  medium,  only  increased  the  poignancy  of  his 
sufferings.  Since  the  notary  had  proceeded  to  such  extremities, 
any  hope  from  his  mercy  was  vain.  He  felt  there  was  noth- 
ing left  but  to  submit  to  his  fate,  and  let  the  law  take  its 
course. 

"  Are  we  ever  to  get  off !  "  inquired  Bourdin.  "  I  tell  you 
what,  my  man,  if  you  are  not  for  marching,  we  must  make  you, 
that's  all." 

"  I  cannot  leave  these  diamonds  about  in  this  manner — my 
wife  is  half  distracted,"  cried  Morel,  pointing  to  the  stones 
lying  on  his  work-table.  "The  person  for  whom  I  am  polish- 
ing them  will  come  to  fetch  them  away  either  this  morning  or 
during  the  day.  They  are  of  considerable  value." 

"  Capital !  "  whispered  Tortillard,  who  was  still  peeping  in 
at  the  half-closed  door;  "capital,  capital!  What  will  Mother 
Chouette  say  when  I  tell  her  this  bit  of  luck?" 

"  Only  give  me  till  to-morrow,"  said  Morel,  beseechingly ; 
"  only  till  I  can  return  these  diamonds  to  my  employer." 


450  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  I  tell  you,  the  thing  can't  be  done.  So  let's  have  no  more 
to  say  about  it." 

"  But  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  leave  diamonds  of  such  value 
as  these  exposed,  to  be  lost  or  even  stolen  in  my  absence." 

"  Well  then,  take  them  along  with  you.  We  have  got  a  coach 
waiting  below,  for  which  you  will  have  to  pay  when  you  settle 
the  costs.  We  will  go  altogether  to  your  employer's  house,  and, 
if  you  don't  meet  with  him,  why,  then,  you  can  deposit  these 
jewels  at  the  office  of  the  prison,  where  they  will  be  as  safe  as 
in  the  bank — only  look  sharp,  and  let's  be  off,  before  your  wife 
and  children  perceive  us." 

"  Give  me  but  till  to-morrow — only  to  bury  my  child ! "  im- 
plored Morel,  in  a  supplicating  voice,  half  stifled  by  the  heavy 
sobs  he  strove  in  vain  to  repress. 

"Nonsense,  I  tell  you;  why,  we  have  lost  an  hour  here 
already ! " 

"  Besides,  it's  dull  work  going  to  berrins,"  chimed  in 
Malicorne.  "  It  would  be  too  much  for  your  feelings,  p'raps !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Morel,  bitterly ;  "  it  is  dull  work  to  see  what  we 
would  have  given  our  lives  to  save  laid  in  the  cold  earth.  But, 
as  you  are  men,  grant  that  satisfaction."  Then,  looking  up, 
and  observing  the  nonchalant  air  with  which  his  prayer  was 
received,  he  added,  "  But  no,  persons  of  so  much  feeling  as  you 
are  would  fear  to  indulge  me,  lest  I  should  find  it  a  gloomy 
sight.  Well,  then,  at  least  grant  me  one  word !  " 

"  The  deuce  take  your  last  words !  Why,  old  chap,  there 
seems  no  end  to  them.  Come,  put  the  steam  on — make  haste," 
said  Malicorne,  with  brutal  impatience,  "  or  we  shall  lose  t'other 
gent  we're  after." 

"  When  did  you  receive  orders  to  arrest  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  why  judgment  was  signed  four  months  ago !  But  it 
was  only  yesterday  our  officer  got  instructions  to  put  it  in 
execution." 

"  Only  yesterday!    And  why  has  it  been  delayed  so  long?" 

"  How  the  devil  should  I  know  ?  Come,  look  about  you,  and 
put  up  your  things." 

"  Only  yesterday  ?  And  during  the  whole  day  we  saw  noth- 
ing of  Louise!  Where  can  she  be?  or  what  has  become  of 
her  ?  "  inquired  the  lapidary  mentally,  as  he  took  from  his  table 
a  small  box  filled  with  cotton,  in  which  he  placed  his  stones. 
"  But  never  mind  all  that  now.  I  shall  have  plenty  of  time  to 
think  about  it  when  I  am  in  prison." 

u  Come,  look  sharp  there  a  bit.  Tie  up  your  things  to  take 
with  you,  and  put  your  clothes  on,  there's  a  fine  fellow ! " 


JUDGMENT  AND  EXECUTION.  ,  451 

lt  I  have  no  clothes  to  tie  up,  and  have  nothing  whatever  to 
take  with  me  except  these  jewels,  that  I  may  deposit  them  at 
the  office  of  the  prison." 

"  Well,  then,  dress  yourself  as  quick  as  you  can." 

"  I  have  no  other  dress  than  that  you  now  see  me  in." 

"  I  say,  mate,"  cried  Bourdin,  "  does  he  really  mean  to  be 
seen  in  our  company  with  such  rags  as  those  on  ?  " 

"  I  fear,  indeed,  I  shall  shame  such  gentlemen  as  you  are ! " 
said  Morel,  bitterly. 

"  It  don't  much  signify,"  replied  Malicorne,  "  as  nobody  will 
see  us  in  the  coach." 

"  Father ! "  cried  one  of  the  children,  "  mother  is  calling  for 
you ! " 

"  Listen  to  me !  "  said  Morel,  addressing  one  of  the  men  with 
hurried  tones ;  "  if  one  spark  of  human  pity  dwells  within  you, 
grant  me  one  favor!  I  have  not  the  courage  to  bid  my  wife 
and  children  farewell ;  it  would  break  my  heart !  and,  if  they 
see  you  take  me  away,  they  will  try  to  follow  me.  I  wish  to 
spare  all  this.  Therefore,  I  beseech  you  to  say,  in  a  loud  voice, 
that  you  will  come  again  in  three  or  four  days,  and  pretend  to 
go  away.  You  can  wait  for  me  at  the  next  landing-place,  and 
I  will  come  to  you  in  less  than  five  minutes :  that  will  spare  all 
the  misery  of  taking  leave.  I  am  quite  sure  it  would  be  too 
much  for  me,  and  that  I  should  become  mad!  I  was  not  far 
off  it  a  little  while  ago ! " 

"  Not  to  be  caught !  "  answered  Malicorne ;  "  you  want  to  do 
me !  but  I'm  up  to  you !  You  mean  to  give  us  the  slip,  you  old 
chouse ! " 

"  God  of  heaven ! "  cried  Morel,  with  a  mixture  of  grief  and 
indignation,  "has  it  come  to  this?" 

"  I  don't  think  he  means  what  you  say,"  whispered  Bourdin 
to  his  companion:  "let  us  do  what  he  asks;  we  shall  never  get 
away  unless  we  do.  I'll  stand  outside  the  door;  there  is  no 
other  way  of  escaping  from  this  garret ;  he  cannot  get  away  from, 
us." 

"  Very  well.  But  what  a  dog-hole !  what  a  place  for  a  man 
to  care  about  leaving !  Why,  a  prison  will  be  a  palace  to  it ! " 
Then,  addressing  Morel,  he  said,  "  Now,  then,  be  quick,  and  we 
will  wait  for  you  on  the  next  landing!  so  make  tip  some 
pretense  for  our  going." 

"Well,"  said  Bourdin,  "in  a  loud  voice,  and  bestowing  a 
significant  look  on  the  unhappy  artisan,  "since  things  are  as 
you  say,  and  as  you  think  you  shall  be  able  to  pay  us  in  a  short 
time,  why,  we  shall  leave  you  for  the  present,  and  return  in 


452  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

about  four  or  five  days;  but  you  must  not  disappoint  us  then, 
remember ! " 

"  Thank  you,  gentlemen.  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  be  able  to 
pay  you  then." 

The  bailiffs  then  withdrew,  while  Tortillard,  hearing  the  men 
talk  of  quitting  the  room,  had  hastened  down-stairs  for  fear  of 
being  detected  listening. 

"  There,  Madame  Morel ! "  said  Eigolette,  endeavoring  to 
draw  the  wife  of  the  lapidary  from  the  state  of  gloomy 
abstraction  into  which  she  had  fallen,  "  do  you  hear 
tbat?  the  men  have  gone,  and  left  your  husband  undis- 
turbed." 

"  Mother !  mother !  "  exclaimed  the  children,  joyfully,  "  they 
have  not  taken  father  away ! " 

"  Morel !  Morel ! "  murmured  Madeleine,  her  brain  quite 
turned,  "take  one  of  those  diamonds — take  the  largest — and 
sell  it,  no  one  will  know  it,  and  then  we  shall  be  delivered  from 
our  misery;  poor  little  Adele  will  get  warm  then,  and  come  back 
to  us." 

Taking  advantage  of  the  instant  when  no  one  was  observing 
him,  the  lapidary  profited  by  it  to  steal  from  the  room.  One 
of  the  men  was  waiting  for  him  on  the  little  landing-place, 
which  was  also  covered  only  by  the  roof;  on  this  small  spot 
opened  the  door  of  the  garret,  which  adjoined  the  apartment 
occupied  by  the  Morels,  and  in  which  M.  Pipelet  kept  his 
depot  of  leather;  and,  further,  this  little  angular  recess,  in 
which  a  person  could  not  stand  upright,  was  dignified  by  the 
melancholy  porter  with  the  name  of  his  Melodramatic  Cabinet, 
because,  by  means  of  a  hole  between  the  lath  and  plaster,  he 
frequently  indulged  in  the  luxury  of  woe  by  witnessing  the 
many  touching  scenes  occasioned  by  the  distress  of  the  wretched 
family  who  dwelt  in  the  garret  beyond  it.  This  door  had  not 
escaped  the  lynx  eye  of  the  bailiff,  who  had,  for  a  time,  suspected 
his  prisoner  of  intending  either  to  escape  or  conceal  himself 
by  means  of  it. 

"  Now,  then,  let  us  make  a  start  of  it ! "  cried  he,  beginning 
to  descend  the  stairs  as  Morel  emerged  from  the  garret. 
"  Rather  a  ragged  recruit  to  march  with ! "  added  he,  beckoning 
to  the  lapidary  to  follow  him. 

"  Only  an  instant,  one  single  instant,  for  the  love  of  God ! " 
exclaimed  Morel,  as,  kneeling  down,  he  cast  a  last  look  on  his 
wife  and  children  through  a  chink  in  the  door.  Then,  clasping 
his  hands,  he  said,  in  a  low,  heart-broken  voice,  while  bitter 
tears  flowed  down,  his  haggard  cheeks, — 


JUDGMENT  AND  EXECUTION.  453 

"  Adieu,  my  poor  children !  my  wife !  may  Heaven  preserve 
you  all !  Farewell !  farewell !  " 

"  Come,  don't  get  preaching ! "  said  Bourdin,  coarsely,  "  or 
your  sermons  may  keep  us  here  till  night,  which  is  what  I  can't 
stand,  for  I  am  almost  froze  to  death  as  it  is.  Ugh!  what  a 
kennel !  what  a  hole !  " 

Morel  rose  from  his  knees,  and  was  about  to  follow  the  bailiff, 
when  the  words,  "  Father !  father ! "  sounded  up  the  staircase. 

"  Louise ! "  exclaimed  the  lapidary,  raising  his  hands  to- 
wards heaven  in  a  transport  of  gratitude;  "thank  God  I  shall 
be  able  to  embrace  you  before  I  go ! " 

"  Heaven  be  praised,  I  am  here  in  time ! "  cried  the  voice,  as 
it  rapidly  approached,  and  quick,  light  steps  were  distinguisha- 
ble, swiftly  ascending  the  stairs. 

"  Don't  be  uneasy,  my  dear/'  said  a  second  voice,  evidently 
proceeding  from  some  individual  considerably  behind  the  first 
speaker,  but  whose  thick-puffing  and  laborious  breathing  an- 
nounced the  coming  of  one  who  did  not  find  mounting  to  the 
top  of  the  house  so  easy  an  affair  as  it  seemed  to  her  light- 
footed  companion. 

The  reader  may,  perhaps,  have  already  guessed  that  the  last 
comer  was  no  other  than  Madame  Pipelet,  who,  less  agile  than 
Louise,  was  compelled  to  advance  at  a  much  slower  pace. 

"  Louise !  is  it,  indeed,  you  ?  my  own,  my  good  Louise ! " 
said  Morel,  still  weeping.  "  But  how  pale  you  look !  for 
mercy's  sake,  my  child,  what  is  the  matter?" 

(<  Nothing,  father,  nothing,  I  assure  you ! "  said  Louise,  in 
much  agitation ;  "  but  I  have  run  so  fast !  See,  I  have  brought 
the  money ! " 

"  What?  " 

"  You  are  free !  " 

"You  knew,  then,  that " 

"  Oh,  yes !  Here,  sir !  you  will  find  it  quite  right,"  said  the 
poor  girl,  placing  a  rouleau  of  gold  in  the  hands  of  Malicorne. 

"But  this  money,  Louise, — how  did  you  become  possessed 
of  it?" 

"I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  by  and  by:  pray  do  not  be 
uneasy;  let  us  go  and  comfort  my  mother.  Come,  father." 

"  No,  not  just  this  minute ! "  cried  Morel,  remembering  that, 
as  yet,  Louise  was  entirely  ignorant  of  the  death  of  her  little 
sister;  "wait  an  instant,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  first. 
But  about  this  money?" 

All  right,"  said  Malicorne,  as,  having  finished  counting  the 
gold,  he  put  it  in  his  pocket;  "precisely  one  thousand  three 


454  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

hundred  francs,  And  is  that  all  you  have  got  for  me,  my  pretty 
dear?" 

"  I  thought,  father,"  said  Louise,  struck  with  alarm  and  sur- 
prise at  the  man's  question,  "  that  you  only  owed  one  thousand 
three  hundred  francs  ?  " 

"  Nor  do  I,"  replied  Morel. 

"  Precisely  so !  "  answered  the  bailiff ;  "  the  original  debt  is 
one  thousand  three  hundred  francs;  well,  that  is  all  right  now, 
and  we  may  put  '  settled '  against  that :  but  then,  you  see,  there 
are  the  costs,  caption,  etc.,  etc.,  amounting  to  eleven  hundred 
and  forty  francs,  still  to  be  paid." 

"  Gracious  Heaven ! "  cried  Louise,  "  I  thought  one  thou- 
sand three  hundred  francs  would  pay  everything!  But,  sir,  we 
will  make  up  the  money,  and  bring  it  to  you  very  soon ;  take 
this  for  the  present,  it  is  a  good  sum;  take  it  as  paid  on 
account :  it  will  go  towards  the  debt,  at  least,  won't  it,  father  ?  " 

"  Very  well ;  then,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  bring  the  required 
sum  to  the  prison,  and  then,  and  not  till  then,  your  father — 
if  he  is  your  father — will  be  set  at  liberty.  Come,  master,  we 
must  start,  or  we  never  shall  get  there." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  to  take  him  away  ?  " 

"  Do  I  ?  don't  I  ?  Just  look  here :  I  am  ready  to  give  you  a 
memorandum  of  having  received  so  much  on  account;  and, 
whenever  you  bring  the  rest,  you  shall  have  a  receipt  in  full, 
and  your  father  along  with  it.  There,  now,  that's  a  handsome 
offer,  ain't  it?" 

"  Mercy !  mercy !  "  supplicated  Louise. 

"  Whew !  "  cried  the  man,  "  here's  a  scene  over  again !  My 
stars,  I  hope  this  one  isn't  a-going  mad,  too,  for  the  whole 
family  seems  uncommon  queer  about  the  head !  Well,  I  declare 
I  never  see  anything  like  it !  it  is  enough  to  set  a  man  perspir- 
ing in  the  midst  of  winter ! "  and  here  the  bailiff  burst  into  a 
loud,  coarse  laugh  at  his  own  brutal  wit. 

"  Oh,  my  poor,  dear  father ! "  exclaimed  Louise,  almost  dis- 
tractedly ;  "  when  I  had  hoped  to  have  saved  you ! " 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  the  lapidary,  in  a  tone  of  utter  despair,  and 
stamping  his  foot  in  wild  desperation,  "hope  nothing  for  me; 
God  has  forgotten  me,  and  Heaven  has  ceased  to  be  just  to  a 
wretch  like  me !  " 

"  Calm  yourself,  my  worthy  friend,"  said  a  rich,  manly  voice ; 
"there  is  always  a  kind  Providence  that  watches  over  and  pre- 
serves good  and  honest  men  like  you." 

At  the  same  instant  Eodolph  appeared  at  the  door  of  the 
small  recess  we  have  spoken  of,  from  whence  he  had  been  an 


JUDGMENT  AND  EXECUTION.  455 

invisible  spectator  of  much  that  we  have  related :  he  was  pale, 
and  extremely  agitated.  At  this  sudden  apparition  the  bailiff 
drew  back  with  surprise;  while  Morel  and  his  daughter  gazed 
on  the  stranger  with  bewildered  wonder.  Taking  from  his 
waistcoat-pocket  a  quantity  of  folded  bank-notes,  Rodolph 
selected  three,  and,  presenting  them  to  Malicorne,  he  said, — 

"  Here  are  two  hundred  thousand  five  hundred  francs ;  give 
this  young  woman  back  the  money  you  have  just  received  from 
her." 

Still  more  and  more  astonished  at  this  singular  interference, 
the  man  half  hesitated  to  take  the  notes,  and,  when  he  had  re- 
ceived them,  he  eyed  them  with  the  utmost  suspicion,  turning 
and  twisting  them  about  in  every  direction ;  at  length,  satisfied 
both  as  to  their  reality  and  genuineness,  he  finally  deposited 
them  in  his  pocket-book;  but,  as  his  surprise  and  alarm  began 
to  subside,  so  did  his  natural  coarseness  of  idea  return,  and, 
eyeing  Rodolph  from  head  to  foot  with  an  impertinent  stare, 
he  exclaimed, — 

"  The  notes  are  right  enough ;  but  pray  who  and  what  are  you 
that  go  about  with  such  sums?  I  should  just  wish  to  know 
whose  it  is,  and  how  you  came  by  it  ?  " 

Rodolph  was  very  plainly  dressed,  and  his  appearance  by  no 
means  improved  by  the  dust  and  dirt  his  clothes  had  gathered 
during  his  stay  in  M.  Pipelet's  Cabinet  of  Melodrama. 

"  I  desired  you  to  give  back  the  gold  you  received  just  now 
from  this  young  person,"  replied  Rodolph,  in  a  severe  and 
authoritative  tone. 

"  You  desired  me !  and  who  the  devil  are  you,  to  give  your 
orders  ? "  answered  the  man,  approaching  Rodolph  in  a 
threatening  manner. 

"  Give  back  the  gold ! — give  it  back,  I  say !  "  said  the  prince, 
grasping  the  wrist  of  Malicorne  so  tightly  that  the  unhappy 
bailiff  winced  beneath  his  iron  clutch. 

"I  say,"  bawled  he,  "hands  off,  will  you?  Curse  me  if  I 
don't  think  you're  old  Nick  himself!  I  am  sure  your  fingers 
are  cased  with  iron." 

"  Then  return  the  money !  Why,  you  despicable  wretch !  do 
you  want  to  be  paid  twice  over  ?  Now  return  the  gold  and  be- 
gone, or,  if  you  utter  one  insolent  word,  I'll  fling  you  over  the 
banisters ! " 

"  Well,  don't  kick  up  such  a  row !  there's  the  girl's  money," 
said  Malicorne,  giving  back  to  Louise  the  rouleau  he  had  re- 
ceived. "  But  mind  what  you  are  about,  my  sparky,  and  don't 
think  to  ill-use  me  because  you  happen  to  be  the  strongest ! " 


456  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS. 

"  That's  right !  "  said  Bourdin,  ensconcing  himself  behind 
his  taller  associate.  "  And  who  are  you,  I  should  like  to  know, 
who  give  yourself  such  airs  ?  " 

"Who  is  he?  why  my  lodger,  my  king. of  lodgers,  you  ill- 
looking,  half-starved,  hungry  hounds !  you  ill-taught,  dirty  fel- 
lows ! "  exclaimed  Madame  Pipelet,  who,  puffing  and  panting 
for  breath,  had  at  last  reached  the  landing  where  they  stood; 
her  head,  as  usual,  adorned  with  her  Brutus  wig,  which,  during 
the  heat  and  bustle  she  had  experienced  in  ascending  the  stairs, 
had  got  pushed  somewhat  awry;  while  in  her  hand  she  bore  an 
earthen  stewpan,  filled  with  smoking-hot  broth,  which  she  was 
charitably  conveying  to  the  Morels. 

"  What  the  devil  does  this  old  hedgehog  want  ? "  cried 
Bourdin. 

"  If  you  dare  make  any  of  your  saucy  speeches  about  me," 
returned  Madame  Pipelet,  "  I'll  make  you  feel  my  nails — ay, 
and  my  teeth,  too,  if  you  provoke  me !  And,  if  you  don't  mend 
your  manners,  my  lodger,  my  king  of  lodgers,  will  pitch  you 
over  the  banisters,  and  I  will  sweep  you  out  into  the  street,  as 
I  would  a  heap  of  rubbish." 

"This  old  beldame  will  bring  the  whole  house  about  our 
ears,"  said  Bourdin  to  Malicorne ;  "  we've  touched  the  blunt,  our 
expenses  and  all,  so  I  say  '  Off '  is  a  good  word." 

"  Here,  take  your  property,"  said  the  latter,  flinging  a  bundle 
of  law-papers  at  the  feet  of  Morel. 

"  Pick  them  up,  and  deliver  them  decently ;  you  have  been 
paid  as  a  respetcable  officer  would  have  been,  act  like  one ! " 
cried  Eodolph,  seizing  the  bailiff  vigorously  with  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  he  pointed  to  the  papers. 

Fully  convinced  by  this  second  powerful  grip  how  useless  any 
attempt  at  resistance  would  prove,  the  bailiff  stooped  down,  and, 
mechanically  picking  up  the  papers,  gave  them  to  Morel,  who, 
scarcely  venturing  to  credit  his  senses,  believed  himself  under 
the  influence  of  a  delightful  dream. 

"  Well,  young  chap,"  grumbled  out  Malicorne,  "  although 
you  have  got  a  fist  as  strong  as  a  drayman's,  mind  you,  if  ever 
you  fall  into  my  clutches,  I'll  make  you  smart  for  this ! "  So 
saying,  he  doubled  his  fist  at  Eodolph,  and  then  scrambled 
down  the  stairs,  taking  four  or  five  at  a  time,  followed  by  his 
companion,  who  kept  looking  behind  him  with  indescribable 
terror;  while  Madame  Pipelet,  burning  to  avenge  the  insults 
offered  to  her  king  of  lodgers,  looked  at  her  streaming  stewpan 
with  an  air  of  inspiration,  and  heroically  exclaimed, — 

"  The  debts  of  the  Morels  are  paid !    Henceforward  they  will 


JUDGMENT  AND  EXECUTION.  457 

have  plenty  of  food,  and  can  do  without  my  messes !    Look  out 
there  below ! " 

So  saying,  she  stooped  over  the  banisters,  and  poured  the  con- 
tents of  her  stewpan  down  the  backs  and  shoulders  of  the  two 
bailiffs,  who  had  just  reached  the  first-floor  landing. 

"  There  goes ! "  screamed  out  the  delighted  porteress ; 
"  capital !  ha,  ha,  ha !  there  they  are !  two  regular  sops  in  the 
pan !  Well,  I  do  enjoy  this !  " 

"What  the  devil  is  this?"  exclaimed  Malicorne,  thoroughly 
soaked  with  the  hot,  greasy  liquid.  "  I  say,  I  wish  you  would 
mind  what  you  are  about  up  there,  you  old  figure  of  fun !  " 

"  Alfred ! "  bawled  Madame  Pipelet,  in  a  tone  sharp  and 
shrill  enough  to  have  split  the  tympanum  of  a  deaf  man, — 
"Alfred,  my  old  darling!  have  at  'em!  they  wanted  to  behave 
ill  to  your  Stasie  (Anastasie)  !  the  nasty  fellows  have  been 
taking  liberties — quite  violent!  Knock  them  down  with  your 
broom !  and  call  the  oyster-woman,  and  the  man  at  the  wine- 
vaults,  to  help  you!  Get  out  you! — get — get — get  out!  cht, 
cht,  cht! — thieves!  thieves!  robbers! — cht — b-r-r-r-r-r-r — hou, 
hou,  hou!  Knock  them — knock  them  down!  that's  right,  old 
dear !  pay  them  off !  break  their  bones !  serve  them  out !  Bourn, 
bourn,  bourn!" 

And,  by  way  of  conclusion  to  this  concatenation  of  discordant 
noises,  accompanied  by  a  constant  succession  of  stamping  and 
kicking  of  feet,  Madame  Pipelet,  carried  away  by  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment,  flung  her  earthen  stewpan  to  the  bottom 
of  the  staircase,  which,  breaking  into  a  thousand  pieces  at  the 
very  instant  that  the  two  bailiffs,  terrified  by  the  yells  and 
noises  from  overhead,  were  precipitately  descending  the  stairs 
witli  hasty  strides,  added  not  a  little  to  their  terror. 

"  Ah,  ah,  all ! "  cried  Anastasie,  bursting  into  loud  fits  of 
laughter.  "  Now  be  off  with  you — I  think  you  have  had 
enough ! "  Then,  crossing  her  arms,  she  stood,  like  a  trium- 
phant Amazon,  rejoicing  in  the  victory  she  had  achieved. 

While  Madame  Pipelet  was  thus  venting  her  rage  upon  the 
bailiffs,  Morel  had  thrown  himself,  in  heartfelt  gratitude,  at 
the  feet  of  Rodolph. 

"Ah,  sir,"  exclaimed  he,  when  at  last  words  came  to  his 
assistance,  "you  have  saved  a  whole  family!  To  whom  do  we 
owe  this  unhoped-for  assistance  ?  " 

' '  To  the  God  who  watches  over  and  protects  all  honest  men' 
as  your  immortal  Beranger  says." 

Note.— The  following:  are  some  curious  particulars  relative  to  bodily  re- 
straint, as  cited  in  the  "  Pauvre  Jacques,"  a  journal  published  under  the 


458  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  PARIS, 

patronage    of    the    "Society    for  the    Furtherance   and    Protection   of 
Christianity:"— 

(Prison  Committee.)  (ComiU  des  Prisons.) 

"  A  protest  and  intimation  of  bodily  restraint  are  generally  carried  about 
by  sheriffs'  officers,  and  charged  by  law,  the  first,  4f.  35c.,  the  second,  4f. 
70c.;  for  these,  however,  the  officers  usually  demand,  for  the  former,  10/. 
40c.,  for  the  second,  16/.  40c.;  thus  illegally  claiming  from  the  unfortunate 
victims  of  the  law  26/.  80c.,  for  that  which  is  fixed  by  that  very  law  at  9f.  50c. 

"  For  an  arrest,  the  legal  charge  is,  including  stamp  and  registering,  3/. 
50c.;  coach-hire,  5f.;  for  arrest  and  entry  in  the  prison  books,  60/.  25c.;  office 
dues,  8f.  Total,  76f.  75c.  A  bill  of  the  usual  scale  ordinarily  charged  by 
sheriffs'  officers,  now  lying  before  us,  shows  that  these  allowances  by  law  are 
magnified  by  the  extortion  of  the  officers  into  a  sum  of  about  240/.,  instead 
of  the  76/.  they  are  alone  entitled  to  claim. 

The  same  journal  says  :— "  Sheriff's'  officer  *  *  *  *  has  been  to  our  office, 
requesting  us  to  correct  an  article  which  appeared  in  one  of  our  numbers, 
headed,  ' A  woman  hung.'  'I  did  not  hang  the  woman!'  observed  he, 
angrily.  We  did  not  assert  that  he  did,  but,  to  prevent  any  further  misap- 
prehension, content  ourselves  with  reprinting  the  paragraph  in  question  :— 
'  A  few  days  ago,  a  sheriffs  officer,  named  *  *  *  *,  went  to  the  Rue  de  la 
Lune,  to  arrest  a  carpenter,  who  dwelt  there.  The  man,  perceiving  him 
from  the  street,  rushed  hastily  into  his  house,  exclaiming,  '  I  am  a  ruined 
man  !  the  officers  are  here  to  arrest  me  1 '  His  wife,  at  these  words, 
hastened  to  secure  the  door  ;  while  the  carpenter  ran  to  a  room  on  the  top  of 
the  house,  to  conceal  himself.  The  officer,  finding  admittance  refused, 
went  and  fetched  a  magistrate  and  a  blacksmith  ;  the  door  was  forced,  and, 
on  proceeding  upstairs,  the  woman  was  found  hanging  In  her  own  bed- 
chamber. The  officer  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  diverted  from  the  pursuit 
by  the  sight  of  the  corpse  ;  he  continued  his  search,  and  at  length  dis- 
covered the  husband  in  his  hiding-place.  '  I  arrest  you  ! '  cried  the  bailiff. 
'I  have  no  money  !'  replied  the  man.  'Then  you  must  go  to  prison.'  '  Let 
me  at  least  bid  my  wife  adieu ! '  '  It  is  not  worth  while  waiting  for  that— 
your  wife  is  dead!  she  has  hung  herself!'  Now,  M.  *  *  *  *  (adds  the 
journal  we  have  quoted),  what  have  you  to  say  to  that  ?  You  see  we  have 
merely  copied  your  own  statement  upon  oath,  in  which  you  have  detailed  all 
these  frightful  circumstances  with  horrible  minuteness  ! " 

The  same  journal  also  cites  two  or  three  hundred  similar  facts,  of  which 
the  following  may  serve  as  a  specimen: — "  The  expenses  upon  a  note  of  hand 
for  300f .  have  been  run  up  by  the  sheriffs'  officers  to  964/. ;  the  debtor,  there- 
fore, who  is  a  mere  artisan,  with  a  family  of  five  children,  has  been  detained 
in  prison  for  the  last  seven  months  ! " 

The  author  of  this  work  had  a  double  reason  for  borrowing  thus  largely 
from  the  pages  of  the  "  Pauvre  Jacques."  In  the  first  place,  to  show  that 
the  horrors  of  the  last  chapter  are  far  below  reality  in  their  painful  details. 
And  secondly,  to  prove  that,  if  only  viewed  in  a  philanthropic  light,  the 
allowing  such  a  state  of  things  to  go  on  (namely,  the  exorbitant  and  illegal 
fees  both  demanded  and  exacted  by  certain  public  functionaries),  frequently 
acts  as  a  preventive  to  the  exercise  of  benevolence,  and  paralyzes  the  hand 
of  charity.  Thus,  were  a  small  capital  of  1000/.  collected  among  kind-hearted 
individuals,  three  or  four  honest,  though  unfortunate,  artisans  might  be 
released  from  a  prison  and  restored  to  their  families,  by  employing  the 
above-named  sum  in  paying  the  debts  of  such  as  were  incarcerated  for 
amounts  varying  from  250  to  300/. !  But,  when  the  original  debt  is  increased 
threefold  by  the  excessive  and  illegal  expenses,  even  the  most  charitable 
recede  from  the  good  work  of  delivering  a  fellow-creature,  from  the  impres- 
sion that  two-thirds  of  their  well-intentioned  bounty  would  only  go  into  the 
pockets  of  pampered  sheriffs'  officers  and  their  satellites.  And  yet  no  class 
of  unfortunate  beings  stand  more  in  need  of  aid  and  charitable  assistance 
than  the  unfortunate  class  we  have  just  been  speaking  of. 


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